


Searching, Searching

by toggledog



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-19 20:14:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toggledog/pseuds/toggledog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While James Bond and M go into hiding, Silva hijacks Mallory's computer to taunt him. Mallory isn't sure whether to believe him. If the taunts are real, then Q is not safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Major spoilers for Skyfall. Put the non-con warning on to be safe, as there are some elements in this fic. Still not certain whether I'll fully go there in later chapters. Oh and the 'major character death' is the one in the film. :)

Mallory stepped back into his office, gently shutting the door behind himself. He had made his choice. Or rather, M had made it for him. When it came to what was, essentially, an interrogation, he had been very eager to hear her thoughts. She did not disappoint. He did understand her ‘interrogator’s’ stance. The accountability of the spy agency to the public (the very people it is meant to be protecting), should always be at the forefront of all of its actions. However, as M clearly stated, this is not always possible, particularly of an agency that ‘worked in the shadows’.

Being shot in the arm made the conflict a little clearer. He would balance, as best he could, the public’s knowledge against the needs of the agency. Ultimately, however, his priority was now with the men and women of the agency. Hence, with no regret, he urged Q to (against protocol) provide an electronic trace for Bond and M, that only Silva could follow.

His instinct, always the most persistent of masters, urged him to check his laptop. Ridiculous, he inwardly scoffed. It would be impossible for Silva to infiltrate my laptop. The most stringent of security measures protect it.

He walked to the oak cabinet to the left of the room and took out the crystal whiskey decanter, using his good hand to pour himself a goodish amount. As he took a sip, he ignored the logic that stabbed at his denial, determined to cut through. Silva had been able to outsmart the whole of the organization. He had managed to outwit Q, who had invented the very firewalls that protected their most personal of information. To Silva, decrypting a laptop would be as difficult as taking a very long nap (in an aerodynamically designed bed adjusted to the height and weight of the rester, to attain maximum comfort.)

He took another swig of the alcohol and turned his attention to the grey compact machine sitting amongst the clutter on his desk. Shaking his head at his perceived ridiculousness, he returned to his desk and sat down in his leather chair, pressing the small button to the upper left of the laptop to turn it on. As it geared up to his home page, he expected to see the usual windows icons over the background desktop photo of his wife and son, Henry.

The entire screen was blank, but for six words, written in black Times New Roman font.

Were you sexually tortured when captured?

Mallory wasn’t sure how to process these words. Clearly, they referred to his time as a prisoner of the IRA. His mind went to the very early years of his involvement with the British Army. Part of the training involved included how to handle oneself in all situations. This included sexual torture.

The instructor had been a tough, no nonsense woman that the (at the time) single Mallory was desperate to get into the bed of.

“To all the men who think this doesn’t apply to them, I’m going to be very blunt. Sexual torture is not limited to women. Indeed, some capturers deliberately assaulted male captives, in a direct attempt to emasculate them.”

The ongoing talk about scenarios involving sexual torture and how to deal with it, was sufficient enough to cure Mallory of his ‘crush’.

Seeing as you are so interested, Mallory thought. The answer is no. The psychological and physical torture was scarring enough, as it was. Why the interest, anyway?

Of course, he was well aware that Silva’s past involved capture and torture as well. He felt an odd clenching of his stomach, as though a turnkey was slowly turning, pulling the contents tighter and tighter inwards. Perhaps this was the man’s way of reaching out to him, of revealing something of himself. If this was true, Mallory didn’t want the responsibility. He didn’t think of himself as a coward. However, taking accountability for the reprehensible treatment of a traitor (who had been let down by his own people, but a traitor, nevertheless) was far beyond what he was willing to deal with.

He considered what action to take. Bond and M clearly had a plan to attempt to thwart this man, outwit him in his own game. Should he simply discount the ravings on his laptop, and allow the plan to continue forward? Who to trust with this new information?

A new set of words appeared on the screen before him, replacing the first six.

I like the new Q

These words baffled Mallory more than the previous ones. The turnkey untwisted, replaced by burning anger. Wasn’t this madman going after M? Why was he wasting time playing games? Within a few seconds, as though in answer, new words appeared.

Clearly not as smart as me but he’s very pretty.

Mallory swallowed, suddenly feeling uneasy. Not exactly threatening words by themselves, but taken in conjunction with the first statement about sexual torture… yes, Mallory felt that tightening of the stomach again. Perhaps making Mallory feel this unease was Silva’s plan. Threats and sexual innuendo to-

Boys as pretty as that should be careful. Bad things happen to such pretty boys…

Son of a bitch! Mallory no longer felt uneasy. The anger was back again. Good, now he felt more in control.

If Bond doesn’t kill you, I’ll make sure I do you sick son of a bitch!

Four pictures suddenly appeared on the screen. He had always hated the one of himself. It was a most unflattering angle. Bond was far better looking in reality than he looked in his photo. Q and M’s were rather photogenic.

Beside each of the four photos were four addresses. One was Bond’s current hotel room. The other three were very current indeed.

Mallory thought of his wife, of his boy. He slammed the whiskey down and hastily reached for the telephone.

Tbc…


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos! I'm not sure how old Q is meant to be in the film, so I've made him close to Ben Whishaw's true age (32).

When James arrived back at HQ, much to his relief, Mallory accosted him and whisked him past the other obviously dazed agents, to an empty debriefing room. As Mallory locked the door behind them, James moved to the circular table in the centre, pulled out a chair and collapsed into it. He wanted nothing more than to go back to his hotel room and take a nice long shower, to try wash away the horrors and torment of the evening. Then to perhaps follow it up with a martini. No, something stronger. A whiskey. Or four. However, he knew protocol. On the way back to HQ, he had detailed the events leading up to M’s death. He would now have to reexplain the events to Mallory, and then to who knew how many others.

Mallory sighed and pulled a chair up to face him.

“Tell me what happened?” His tone was surprisingly soft.

As James spoke, he felt strangely removed from the situation. It was as though he was outside of himself, watching this being of flesh and blood and sweat and angst operate his larynx and tongue and lips to form words. He got to the odd stand off in the Church between Silva’s men and him and couldn’t help but smile a little. If the situation hadn’t been so intense, he would have found it rather amusing indeed. The two left of Silva’s goons came into the church with guns raised. James and Kincade also raised their guns. For a moment, no one spoke. James was bloodied. He was tired. He’d been through too bloody much. What’s more, the woman he had completely failed to protect lay dead in his arms.

“Why don’t we just call a truce? You collect your body. We’ll keep ours. And both of us will be on our way.”

For a moment, the two men had looked to each other, then the guns lowered, and they rushed to Silva.

“He was definitely dead?” Mallory brought him back to the present.

James’ mouth twisted up into a half smile. “A knife to the back usually does the trick.”  
In the past, he would have found Mallory’s question somewhat amusing. Now, he simply felt numb. His mind flashed on M’s lifeless eyes staring up at him.

No. Not now.

He forcibly banished it away.

“So they just picked up the body and left?”

James nodded.

“And that was the last you saw of them? Because I must tell you, Bond, that MI6 are already in the area and they haven’t found any trace of Silva or the men.”

James shrugged a little. “Maybe they buried him, then buried themselves as well.” He laughed. For a moment, Mallory’s expression turned to concern, before righting itself to professional sternness, once more.

“You look exhausted. How about we continue this in the morning?”

“What about protocols?”

Mallory shrugged. “A very fine woman has been murdered. I think we need a bit of time to collect ourselves, before continuing.”

At last, an emotion crept into Bond’s weary body; pleasant surprise. He decided that he liked this man.

“There is one more thing, of great importance. Silva hacked my laptop and revealed personal addresses of me, M, and Q, as well as your hotel.”

James felt too apathetic to feign surprise.

“Obviously you can’t go back to your hotel room. One of our first priorities will be finding out if he gave this information to anyone else.”

“Certainly.” James concurred.

“I have booked you a suite at the Empress on Orchard. Paid for by cash, of course.”

“How generous of you.”

Both were silent a long moment.

“Am I excused?”

His mind went to Kincade. He had taken him with him back to London and told him to stand in front of the HQ building. It seemed only fair. He had, after all, destroyed the house that the games keeper both lived and worked in.

“There is one more thing.”

“Another one more thing?” James teased.

Mallory’s face went through a variety of expressions. James could sense that he was uncomfortable with the question he was about to ask.

“You were captured by Silva. I read the report just before you arrived here. I understand there was a sexual component to his interrogation?”

Oh that…

“I suspect it was a way of trying to provoke me. It didn’t work. Nothing serious. Just a bit of a feel up, that’s all.”

Mallory’s expression signaled to James that he didn’t believe that at all. Another emotion crept around the edges of his numbed shock. This one anger. Why was Mallory even bringing that up?

A woman died tonight. You were the one meant to be protecting her. But let’s not talk abut that. Let’s talk about the sociopath who got his jollies from essentially sexually harassing you.

He had played it the only way he knew how- by feigning amused disinterest. He figured that if he showed any fear or disgust at what Silva was doing, it would be an invitation for the madman to go even further.

Mallory’s expression was of a man considering his next words. Just get to the damn point! James thought.

“When Silva hijacked my laptop, he wrote some, rather distressing things on my screen. I have yet to show Q… with Silva dead, perhaps it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Show me.” James urged.

Mallory reached to his bag by his leg and pulled out his laptop. He took it out of his case and opened it.

“It appears to be stuck on the last screen.”

He switched the laptop on. James stared at the words on the screen. He felt the whisper of Silva’s hands on his thighs and suppressed an inward shudder.

Boys as pretty as that should be careful. Bad things happen to such pretty boys…

“He’s referring to Q. The sentence before this one was that he likes Q.” Mallory grinned without humour. “He also asked if my capture in Ireland had involved sexual torture.”

“He’s dead.” James frowned. “I put a knife in his back. I suspect that he was attempting to phase you.”

Mallory turned off his computer and started put it back in its cover and into his bag. “I certainly considered that. But why mention Q? Why not directly threaten me? Surely that would have more effect, if ‘phasing me’ was his plan. Moreover, why not directly threaten my family? That would make even more sense.”

“I’m truly glad you decided to work on our side of the law.” James quipped.

“I would appreciate us keeping this a secret between us, for now.” Mallory replaced his laptop in his bag. "There are other, more pressing matters.”

“Agreed.”

####

James stepped out the front of the building and was rather surprised to see Kincade and Q talking, by the edge of the road. Away from his computers and technology, Q had a distinct awkward jerkiness to his movements. Bond moved further forward to them.

“No, that’s not… my area.” Q said.

“Oh! No disrespect meant-”

“What I meant to say is… I don’t have time for a girlfriend…. Or a boyfriend.”

Now James understood the reason for Q’s clear discomfort.

“Kincade!”

Both turned to face him. Q’s face complexion now slightly pink.

“We’re going to the Empress on Orchard.”

“I know. Q here told me. That’s where he’s heading too.”

“Fine. He can follow.” At that point, James didn’t care where Q went.

They walked a little further up the street. No car, no house. Messed up bad. Damn, he needed a drink. Possibly a nice warm body to take his mind off his current torment.

James put his hand out to hail a taxi.

“What was that about?”

“Just making conversation.” Kincade said.

###

“I’ll take the single bed.” Kincade gestured to the cot to the far left of the room. James shrugged. He wasn’t exactly thrilled to be sharing the room with Kincade. But the hotel was full and James didn’t have the heart to send him elsewhere. (Though he was tempted to tell him to bunk in with Q, seeing as they seemed to be getting along so well.)

“He seems a nice young man.” Kincade said, as he took off his shoes and socks.

“Who?”

“Q.”

“He’s just a kid.” James said.

“Actually, he’s thirty. He told me. See James, only ten years younger than you.”

James stopped in his route to the shower. “What exactly was that about?”

“Like I said. Conversation. It seems you both have a lot in common. Although clearly some things, he’s more open about than you are.” He paused. “I just want you to be happy, James. I don’t care who it’s with.”

He’s suggesting it. He’s actually suggesting it!

“I’m taking a shower.” James said. “I still have M’s blood on me.”

He went into the shower room and closed the door before Kincade could respond.

Tbc…


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and reviews!  
> Hope you like this one :)

“So, 007,” Mallory threw the folder on the desk between them, “Lots to be done. Are you ready to go back to work?”

James only had one answer. Sure, the organization had been in utter chaos the week following M’s death. There was talk of forcing retirement on Bond, of exposing the entire sorry incident. In the end, the government decided to do what it did best- cover the incident up and continue on as normal. According to the media, an unknown intruder killed M in her home. The fire at James’ family home was a separate incident- a squatter getting a little too overzealous with their fire. Any reporter with half a brain could make the connection, but, somehow, James was sure they wouldn’t.

M was gone. James was slowly working through the shock towards a very pained reality. A very classy lady with a biting wit, and razor intelligence (who James didn’t deny he hadn’t fantasized about shooting at least once in his career) now reduced to a pile of ashes in a box.

Yes, there was only one answer. The answer the former M would want him to give.

“With pleasure, M. With pleasure.”

The other man smiled at him, picking up the folder and handing it over.

“We have good intelligence that a terrorist attack is being planned in Shanghai. They intend to detonate a car bomb in a public area.”

James flicked the file open, scanning the various photos and surveillance reports.

“We have details on a multinational cell in the district of Shanghai. You are to infiltrate the cell and find the details of the attack.”

“As easy as that.” James’ mouth twisted into a half smile.

“We already have a man inside. We just need back up. You are booked on a 3.05 flight to Shanghai, under the name John Jeffries. Q will give you the rest of the information you need.”

At the mention of the genius’ name, James’ mouth twisted down into a pout. “So it’s true then. Your addresses aren’t compromised?”

“It appears that Silva’s games died with him. For which I say good riddance.” Mallory said, in a tone that told James that the matter was now closed.

###

After Q’s colleagues told him that the young man was already waiting in the car, James rushed to the front of the building, not bothering to take out his umbrella, as he dashed through the driving rain to the vehicle. He opened the door and slid inside. As soon as he closed it shut, the vehicle smoothly pulled away from the side of the road.

“I plan to go to Tahiti on my next holiday. Can’t stand this bloody weather.” Q remarked.

“I thought you were scared of flying.”

A slight smile touched his lips. “There is such a thing as cruises.”

James had a sudden image of Q lying on a banana lounge sipping a cocktail piled with fruit. It was an amusing thought.

“So… your new ‘job'…” As Q started to explain the intricacies of the terrorist cell, James thought back to seeing him converse with Kincade. There had been a definite awkwardness there. Now, it had all evaporated. Here, in front of him was a confident, one could say cocky young man.

“Am I speaking in another language?”

“Excuse me?”

“I appeared to have lost you.”

James repeated Q’s words.

“Good boy.” Q grinned.

“Why are you coming to the airport with me? You could have told me all this back at HQ.”

“Then I would have not had this time alone with you.”

Q looked him in the eyes. For a moment, James felt something move between them, a kind of charge. He felt it through his entire body, culminating in one particular area.

Well well this was interesting.

James could not recall the last time he’d felt this, while with a man. It had been a while since he’d partaken. The way he saw it, he liked women but didn’t mind the occasional pretty man, like peanut brittle ice-cream over the usual chocolate. Different but equally as tasty.

He looked at Q’s lips, so tantalizingly close. The fey features. Pretty… but masculine… so pretty…

His mind suddenly flashed on the words Silva had written on Mallory’s computer, and felt his lust dissolve, replaced by an ugly animosity.

He’s dead. Knife in the back, remember?

For a moment, Q’s eyes flashed confused hurt, before he quickly looked away. He reached under his seat, pulling out a small black box and handing it to James.

“What’s in lucky box number two?” James mused.

He opened it up…inside was another pistol and radio, as well as two small circular devices.

“These are very long range bugs. When you arrive at the safe house, plant them on the leader. They will work.”

James closed the box and shook his head, amazed by the ingenuity.

The vehicle slid to a stop. For a moment, both looked at each other.

“Good luck, Bond.” Q said, the playful teasing in his voice now gone.

James nodded and retreated from the car.

###

As the vehicle pulled away from the kerb, Q watched the blond figure move, with cat like grace, into the glass doors of the airport. He wound up the window and sat back in his seat, attempting to cognize what had just happened. Q was the first to admit that technological problems were far more preferable for him to solve, than anything to do with relationships. Sure, he considered James to be a very handsome man. But he had never thought it would go beyond that. However, there had been a moment before…

No, he must be wrong. He had been wrong before. James was into women, solely women.

Better not to think about it. Better to…

The shield between the front and back seats going down interrupted his musings. He didn’t recognize the driver as being an agent. The man in the passenger seat, holding the gun, however, was all too recognizable.

“Impossible.”

“No… just improbable.” The man grinned.

Q quickly considered the lock and ruled it out as being electronic. He swiftly undid his seatbelt and reached his foot up to kick at the glass window.

“I wouldn’t do that. This is a nice car and I don’t want to get the window damaged. Please don’t make me shoot you.”

Ok, ok… you’ve been trained for this. You just need to find out what he needs.

“Alright.” Q turned back to face the man. “Just tell me what you want and I’ll accede.”

“Good, we have cooperation.”

Q tried to calm down his racing heart, his shaking hands. This couldn’t be happening. He tried to think what James Bond would do, in this situation.

Bond…Bond said he had killed this man!

As though reading his thoughts, Silva said, “He almost did. I had a collapsed lung, lost a lot of blood. Luckily, one of my men was a trained medic. They took me as far from the Church as possible, then he managed to fix me up as best he could, before our second helicopter came and picked me up, took me to a hospital in Ireland… under a false name, of course. Bond was still in the Church, I’m assuming weeping over that dead woman. I could have killed him, then and there. But no… too easy.”

“What do you want with me?”

Silva’s lips curled up in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sorry, pretty but I need bait. Now, we’re going to a place. Not too far. Shouldn’t be hard for even a numbskull like Bond to find.”

Pretty… Q felt his stomach twist at the thought of Silva finding him attractive.

“But Bond was just in the car! Why didn’t you just grab him then?”

“Now, that would be too easy! I want it to be at least a challenge for him. Also, I like the idea of him realizing I was barely centimeters away from him, and he didn’t even know it. It will drive him mad!” He laughed and then swiftly turned sober once more. “Here are two things that are going to happen. I will kill James Bond. But first I will make him suffer. The other thing is I will have sex with you.”

Q felt the odd sensation of all of his innards dropping into his abdomen.

“Excuse me?”

“I wish to fuck you. Whether or not you end up needing intensive explorative surgery depends on how well you cooperate.”

Oh god…

Q’s vast mind went through everything he had learnt in training, in terms of dealing with being kidnapped. Feeling something cold on his cheeks, he put his hand up to his face, surprised to feel tears.

No, no I can’t…ok calm down. You can handle this.

He took a few deep breaths, in an attempt to calm his racing heart.

“You were kidnapped in China. They did it to you, didn’t they? The assaulted you in that way.”

“Nice try, pretty. But no. Not straight sex, anyway. Sure, they electrocuted my genitals. Does that count?”

“Why? Why me?”

Silva shrugged. “Why not?”

For a moment, Q felt too aghast to answer. “Because I don’t want to! Please, don’t do this. What they did to you was wrong. Don’t lower yourself to their level. You’re no rapist. You know that’s not what you are!”

All expression left the face, replaced with a chilling stare. “You know nothing about me. Now I want you to shut up right now, or I’ll shoot you in the face and fuck your corpse!”

Q heard shaky, almost sob like breaths. It took a moment to realize that they were his own. He had never felt more powerless. He could not even cease the tremble in his body that had now moved from his hands to his entire arms and legs.

“It’s ok…Sh… It’s ok…” Silva crooned, a slight, almost paternal smile playing at his lips.

###

Part of being a spy involved paying attention to details. With one look in a room, James could discern a dozen different important bits of information, often vital to whether people were going to live or die. A shady looking man on a side stool, concealing a holster gun, the known criminal residing in the other end of the room, the shotgun hidden beneath the counter that the attendant glanced to, as soon as he steps in. In the limousine with Q, while memorizing the information, he was also able to discern the speed limit, the… (green of Q’s eyes)… the route taken-

Yes, the route taken.

“Next please.” The woman in the small check-in booth before him called out.

James knew the driver Barney well, even had a few drinks with him after his wife died. This driver went left instead of right from Regent Street. At the time, James had sensed something wrong. Not until now, did it compute.

Barney always traveled the same route. The quickest route to the airport from HQ.

James turned and rushed back out of the airport, taking out from his pocket a pair of headphones. He put them on and pressed a button on the side, connecting him instantly to HQ.

“Change of plan.” He said.

“What are you doing, Bond? Why aren’t you getting on that plane?” Mallory’s gruff voice sounded.

“I need to track the limousine that brought me to the airport.”

“Why on earth would you want to do that?”

“Because Barney isn’t driving it. Whoever it is has Q.”

He spied a motorcycle, parked a few metres away. The leathered rider stood talking to another man, a few metres beyond that.

“I’m going after them.” He calmly moved over to the motorcycle.

Tbc…


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and comments! Sorry for the delay of this chapter- I've been away. The next one should be up very soon (already have it planned ;))

James turned the corner wide, into the path of an oncoming bus. He tilted the motorcycle to the left and swerved out of the way, with milliseconds to spare.

“I need more.” He said.

“We’re working on it.” The voice in his earphone replied.

“Well work faster!” He raced tight around another corner. The driver of a Porsche slammed on the brakes and sounded the horn as he once more barely avoided a fatal accident.

“We’re almost there. We’re just not as fast as Q in-“

“Don’t argue with me just tell me where the damned car is!”

“Got it! They switched. Corner of Spencer and King. New number plate. It’s going to take us a moment to find it.”

James shook his head. Spencer and King meant doubling back. He spun the motorcycle around on the spot and went up the other way.

###

Time had taken on a disturbing abstract quality. He had attempted to count the seconds and minutes since his capture, but the terror of the situation kept overwhelming his rationality. To Q, it felt as though they’d been driving around in the limousine for days, months, years... If he had his gadgets and computers with him, then he would have felt more in control, more able to plan… to at least think. Q had never wanted to be a field agent. The idea of constant potential death didn’t appeal to him.

Finally, the vehicle stopped. Silva continued to stare at him, as he had the entire trip, in a cold, predatory way that made him want to curl into himself.

No, potential death… or any harm indeed simply didn’t appeal to him.

The back door beside him opened.

“Get out!” The man was burley with a blocky, bulldog kind of face. Q wondered what happened to the poor limousine driver.

Realizing he had no choice, Q stepped out of the car.

They appeared to be in the driveway of a ramshackle cabin. Green fields extending in all directions indicated that they were out of London.

He felt the sharp prod of a gun in his back and moved forward, into the cabin. Inside, leaning against the simple, rustic wooden furniture were three other men, all cradling semi-automatics. The sound of the door slamming behind him made him jump. The men laughed.

“Ok, pretty. Strip.”

Q looked beseechingly at Silva.

Please, not here. Not in front of everyone.

Silva stepped over him and drew back his fist. Q put his hand up to protect his face, then felt agonized pain in his stomach as the impact landed there, driving him to his knees.

“I’m not going to ask twice.” Silva said.

Q stood up, closing his mind to the laughter and jeers of the men. As he took off his scarf and coat, he thought about pride. He’d heard other men say that they’d rather die than be forced by another man. The reality was simply not true. Self-preservation overtook self-righteousness. He felt his face heat, as he undid the buttons to his shirt.

“Good, good.” Silva said.

Q shrugged the shirt off. He was not sure why Silva would be interested in such a scrawny, pale body.

It’s not about attraction, he told himself. It’s about humiliation, control. Power.

He bent down and undid his shoe laces, then took off his shoes and socks (noting dimly that one of the socks had a small hole in it), then stood up again, refusing to look up, to see the men looking at him, laughing at him, cruelly jibing about his body, about what they were going to do to him. His hands shook, as they went to his trousers. It took a few seconds to get the zip down.

“That’s it, pretty. All of it.” Silva whispered.

He felt tears run down his face, as he took off his trousers, then boxers. He stood up straight again, covering his genitals with his hands. He noted, dimly that the floor was dotted with red.

A hand reached up to stroke his cheek. He jolted away.

“You’re very pretty indeed.” He felt fingers cup his chin, forcing his head up to look into Silva’s cold eyes. Silva’s face moved forward. Without considering the implications, he turned his face to the side, then shuddered as he felt Silva’s tongue swipe along his cheek. “Not on the mouth?” A soft kiss landed on his ear. “Like a proper whore, then.”

The men broke up into laughter. Q shuddered once more. This time, more out of anger than fear.

“Come with me.”

I have no choice, Q thought, as he followed Silva down a short hall to a room at the end. Inside was a rickety old bed with an obvious stained mattress and wooden barred headboard, and a scarred, oak bedside table.

“Get on the bed.” Silva waved the gun.

No choice.

Q had to physically force his feet to move. He lay down on the lumpy mattress and looked up to Silva, feeling his breath quicken, unable to hide the now flowing tears.

“Good, good.” He flinched as Silva trailed a hand up his inner thigh.

“Hands over your head.” Silva climbed onto the bed, knelt over Q’s knees and took a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket. Initial terror gave way to a flash of hope. Surely Silva could not hold the gun and handcuffs at the same time.

“I’ll do what you want.” He said, putting his hands up over his head. Silva put the gun down on the bedside table and reached for Q’s hands. Taking advantage of the one chance he had, Q curled his fingers inwards, rested his thumb against his index finger and slammed his palm as hard as he could into Silva’s neck, slamming his would-be rapist’s head back with such force it knocked him out. As he started to fall forward, Q instantly moved out of the way. He grabbed the gun off the bedside table and cuffs out of Silva’s hands, quickly cuffing him to the headboard.

For a moment, he held the gun on his would-be-rapist. His hand shook slightly. Still, he could do it.

No. He was not that kind of agent. Let the man go to trial, be publicly humiliated. Death was too easy.

Although Silva hadn’t succeeded in violating him, a part of him realized there would still be some emotional trauma associated with what had happened. But, for now, he was still running on adrenaline, still amped up to really feel the consequences of his attack.

Besides, there were still the other men to deal with. Content that Silva was still out; he crept stealthily to the door. Loud voices sounded at the front of the house. Treading as lightly as carefully, he walked to the end of the hall. Two of the men faced away from him. None of the others directly faced him. He steadily closed the door, took out the gun and aimed, then realized the problem. It was palm printed, as James Bond’s was. He wouldn’t be able to fire it, anyway. A great, crushing disappointment overtook him. Within seconds, these men would discover him and would-

Three quick shots rang out, followed by a small burst of machine gun fire, and then followed by a fourth shot. Then silence.

His heart now hammered so wildly in his chest, it felt as though it was about to burst out. Q took a deep breath and risked looking out from behind the door, holding the gun out.

James Bond stood in the centre of four dead bodies.

“Bond.” He came out from behind the door.

Bond took in his nakedness with clear fury written on his features.

“It’s Silva. He’s alive.”

Bond gave no obvious surprise to the resurrection of his nemesis.

“Where is he now?”

“Handcuffed to a bed at the end of the room.”

“Right.” Bond went to move past him.

“Don’t kill him. He’s not going anywhere.”

Bond stopped and looked at him, eyes decidedly icy with fury.

“Please… I need to… change before the cavalry comes in.” The weak joke did not work. He moved to his clothes and started to redress himself.

“He didn’t… he didn’t rape me.” Q said, as he put his underwear and trousers back on. “He tried to… but I managed to fight him off. That’s why he’s handcuffed in the other room.”

“Son of a bitch.” Bond muttered under his breath, then moved swiftly down the hall.

Tbc…


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Been on holiday for the past few weeks.

James refused to consider the irony that if Q were the one tracing the limousine, he would have reached the cabin a lot sooner. He could just make out said vehicle a few hundred metres in, right before the front window. Discarding the motorcycle behind the chain link fence that bordered the far right end of the property, James cautiously moved a wide circle around to the back. Then, using the foliage as cover, he crept his way forward. No one covered the back entrance. James wondered what kind of imbeciles were running this operation. He moved swiftly around the side of the house. No sound could be heard from inside. A man stood on the front verandah, cradling a semi-automatic and smoking a cigarette. James took him out with a bullet to the forehead. He then risked moving to the window and, taking into consideration any derivation the glass would cause to the bullet, fired through it. This one took a second man in the throat. The two other men in the room turned swiftly towards him, weapons raised. He fired once more, taking a third one in the neck also, and then ducked below the window, just in time to hear the rattle of the fourth’s machine gun. Good weapon, James thought, but it only lasts for about ten seconds tops before you have to reload. Sure enough, as he put his head up, the man was already reaching into his pocket for the second clip. His brain splattered against the wall. James kicked the door in, skirting his gun around the room. The ‘gunfight’ lasted about one minute.

“Bond.”

A figure came out from behind the centre door, leading down a hall to a room in the back. The hand that held the gun shook. Q appeared to be, on surface, uninjured. His nakedness, however, was rather alarming.

“It’s Silva. He’s alive.”

Somehow, these words did not surprise James.

“Where is he now?”

“Handcuffed to a bed in the other room.”

As James moved past him, Q made an odd gesture. He reached out to stop him.

“Please don’t kill him. He’s not going anywhere. Please… I need to… change before the cavalry comes in.”

James numbly watched Q move to pick up the clothes piled in the centre of the room. The implication was too sickening for James to contemplate.

As though reading his mind, Q said ““He didn’t… he didn’t rape me. He tried to… but I managed to fight him off. That’s why he’s handcuffed in the other room.”

James felt a rush of fury tear through him. That son of a bitch! He threw open the door leading to the hall and stormed down it.  
“Silva is alive.” A voice suddenly sounded in his earpiece. It was Mallory. “Don’t kill him. We need him.”

James ignored Mallory and threw open the end door. Handcuffed to a bed to the back of the room, as Q predicted, lay Silva. James swallowed down a wad of intermingled regret and fury at the sight.

“Surprise! You know, you’re a terrible assassin. You should have your 00’s removed.”

Mallory be damned. James raised his weapon.

“He’s infiltrated the system at HQ and put a virus through it. The entire bloody things scrambled. If Q can’t fix it, then we need Silva.” Through his earpiece, Mallory spoke again.

“Now, that’s not fair, shooting a tied up man. I would think better of you, Bond.” Silva grinned.

“Why come back? You succeeded. M is dead.”

“Perhaps she wasn’t my only target.” The grin stayed, as though frozen on his face.

“You had your fun.” For a moment, Bond thought Silva was talking to him. But then Q moved beside him. “But you shouldn’t have hurt me. I was going to be gentle. Next time, I’ll take you till you bleed, till you need surgery. Then I’ll pass you around to my men. Bond, you can watch. I’m sure you’ll be more than excited to see the pretty boy here fucked to within an inch of his life.” Silva laughed.

Bond walked up to him and stuck the gun against his chin.

“Bond no!” Q said.

“You even look at him and any torture you suffered will be nothing compared to me, this gun, and five minutes in a room alone with you.”

“Now that does sound devilish.” Silva flirted.

James considered simply shooting him dead right then and there.

The distant sound of helicopter blades decided Silva’s fate.

“It would be too easy. This time, you won’t escape.” Bond could no longer bear to look at the man. He turned and strode out of the room.

###  
Though it was only a short helicopter ride back to HQ, to James it seemed an eternity. Before boarding, he deliberately put Q in the second helicopter, determined to keep him away from the madman. Happily, the agents aboard were also trained in medicine. Saying they weren’t taking any chances, they injected Silva with an anesthetic to knock him out.

Even with Silva lying unconscious behind him, the roof to MI6 was a welcome sight. The helicopter landed and the other agents hurried Silva away. Mallory ordered James and Q to his office. The route took them past Q’s work area. Dozens of men tapped on the various computer consoles, with obvious anxiety. The cause of the chaos was clear. Rather than showing the various workings of the organization, the main computer screen, to the centre of the room, showed a cartoon version of a laughing monkey. On the bottom flashed the words ‘Think on your sins MI6’.

Q swore under his breath and went to move forward.

“Q, Bond!” Mallory’s voice rang out from the other side of the room. “In here, please.”

###

As the door to Mallory’s office closed behind them, Q exhibited the same fidgety nervousness that Bond noted when he was outside talking to Kincaide.

“With all respect, I need to be out there. Only I can fix this problem!”

Mallory responded by moving to the dresser to the side of the room, and taking out a bottle of whiskey.

“I don’t think that is a good idea.” He said, as he poured two glasses.

James took the alcohol without a word. Q waved it away.

“I think Silva wants you to come out and try and delete the virus.” Mallory said, as James gulped down the whiskey. It burnt down his throat in exactly the right way.

“I’m tired of playing it exactly the way this man wants. He obviously has a plan. And it involves you two. Well, I’m not going to give him what he wants. That is why I’m proposing that you both get out of town for a few days.”

James and Q both let out vehement protests. Mallory put a hand up to cease them.

“Neither of you are at your best. You’re stressed, tired… Q, you suffered a great trauma tonight.”

The young man flinched at these words.

“You are to go out of town… Q make sure you can’t be traced. I’ll be in contact.”  
Q opened his mouth, as though to make another protest, but then shut it again.

“Now, I should like to speak to Bond alone.”

Looking clearly disgruntled, Q walked out of the room and closed the door.

“You were first there. He says he wasn’t assaulted. Do you believe him?”

Bond’s mind went back to when he first entered the house, to the naked, shivering man before him.

“I think he’s telling the truth…. In so much as he wasn’t raped. But Silva may have done… other things.”

Mallory’s lips curled up on disgust. “Take care of him.”

Bond slammed the glass down on the table. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

###

Hail pelted the ground so hard, it was as though the Thames had inverted itself and was now dropping directly from the sky. A lone figure stood by one of MI6’s motorcycles. As James came closer, he recognized Q.

Before James could ask why he was standing in the middle of the pouring rain, Q spoke.

“I already took out the tracker.”

“Good, good.” James climbed onto the motorcycle and threw a helmet towards the other man. “Hop on.”

A swift look of distaste overcame the pretty face. Clearly realizing he had no choice, he put on the helmet and climbed on behind James, tenderly putting his arms around his waist. As soon as James started the engine, the arms tightened, with a force that belied Q’s slim frame.

Although they’d destroyed the tracker, James couldn’t be certain that they weren’t being followed. To shake any potential pursuers, he doubled, then tripled, and then quadrupled back. With a final conviction that no one could possibly follow them after that, he sped off out of London.

It took a few hours out to arrive at the destination he had in mind. Neither spoke in this time, though he did note the gradual loosening of the arms around his waist. The warm body pressed up behind him felt strangely sating.

They pulled up outside a simple brick house, fronted by a small colourful garden. Q jumped off the motorcycle before him. Both moved up a winding pebble path to the front door.

The occupant opened the front door within seconds of James ringing the bell.

“Well, well,” Kincaide grinned, “I was wondering when I’d see you again.”

Tbc…


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay in this post. Enjoy!

Q looked around the minimal rustic interior of the small lounge room. The furniture was not new, yet somehow the simplicity and character that the faded antiquities provided, gave warmth to his now numbed insides, that his own, very modern house, with all of its trappings, could not provide.

 “You two are soaked! I would expect you’d want a shower.” Kincaide said, as he closed the front door behind himself.

 Yes, yes, Q very much desired a shower. He could still feel Silva’s hands on him. Nothing would please him more than washing, no, scouring, the taint of that sick pervert from his still numbed body.

 James shrugged and collapsed into the nearest armchair, idly picking up a book on top of the coffee table nearby and flicking through it.

 “That would be great.” Q said.

 “Follow me.” Kincaide said. He led Q down a short hall. The bathroom was the second on the right. “I’ll get you a towel and some clean nightclothes.” He paused. “Mine will probably be too big for you but it’s better than nothing.”

 Q murmured thanks then locked the bathroom door. The room was tiny. A shallow tub pushed up perpendicular to a small sink, both a disgusting orange colour. Q put the plug in the bath and turned on the tap, then started to undress. His harassment from Silva and his men still permeated his mind. He recalled boarding the helicopter afterwards, the awkward looks on the medic’s face.

 “We would like to do a rape kit.”

 Q had felt his stomach clench, his throat go dry. “I... I wasn’t raped.”

 “We have it… on authority that some… sexual harassment occurred-“

 “The answer is no! I wasn’t touched.”

 Q climbed into the bath, allowing the soothing water to pass over him.

_Not raped…_

 Yet, why did he still feel violated? He had escaped a most horrendous fate. It was close. Too close for his comfort.

 Sharp rapping on the door startled him.

 "Er… it’s me. Kincaide. I’ve left the towel and a change of clothes outside.”

 Q picked up the soap by the edge of the bath and started to voraciously scrub himself down with it.

 You’ll be fine, he told himself. You’ll be all right.

 He stayed in there, until the water became too cold to be comfortable. Certainly, he could simply add more hot water, but there was James Bond to think of.  Q climbed out of the tub and unlocked the door, quickly drying and dressing himself.

 “In there long enough.” James grunted, when he made his way back into the lounge room.

 “Sorry.”

 James shrugged then disappeared down the hall. Q stood awkwardly before Kincaide a moment, before sitting down in the lounge chair James had just vacated.

 “James told me what happened.” Kincaide took out a poker and started tending to the fire.

 “What exactly did he say?”

 “That Silva is alive. He kidnapped you to bring James to him. Silva is in custody, for now.”

 “Oh… yes, M told us to hide out for a bit. Silva will undoubtedly be coming after us.”

 Kincaide put down the poker and sat down in the chair opposite Q. “Unfortunate that James didn’t properly finish him off when he had the chance. From what I saw, he is a most detestable man.”

 Q almost laughed aloud at that. Detestable was rather a shallow word, when it came to the deranged madman.

 “You are alright? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

 Q viciously shook his head.

  _Hurt me? No, he wanted to. He told me he was going to have sex with me. Made me strip, almost succeeded in…_

 Unexpected tears pricked at the edges of his eyelids.

_Damn it, damn it._

 He wiped at his face, as the tears spilt down his cheeks.

 “No, he didn’t hurt me.”

 Kincaide leant forward. His voice was gentle, kind. “He threatened you, didn’t he?”

 Q paused, then nodded.

 “Sometimes, even escaping a terrible fate can be rather traumatic.”

 Q looked up. He saw nothing but kindness and gentility in the warm eyes.

 “He told me he was going to have sex with me. Almost succeeded but I… I managed to get the upper hand and knocked him out.”

 For a moment, Kincaide did not hide the look of disgust that overtook his features.

 “He tried to rape you!”

 For the words to be said so bluntly. Q wiped another stray tear from his cheek. Damn him, what was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he have control over his own damned emotions?

 “That sick bastard!” Kincaide said.

 “I’m ok. I’ll be alright.”

 “Well, you’ll be safe here. I guarantee it.”

 Q nodded, unable to look the man in the eye. He felt his cheeks warm at the man seeing his open display of emotion.

 “I’m tired. If it’s alright, I’d like to get some sleep.”

 “Sure! Ah, there’s a spare room in the back.” Kincaide stood up and bade Q to follow him.

 “You two didn’t give me much notice…” He opened the door to a single bed, in the centre of a junk laden room.

 To Q, the bed looked to be the most inviting thing he’d laid eyes on since they upgraded the computer system in HQ.

 “Looks fine to me.”

 After closing the door and climbing under the covers, Q expected to lie awake, the horror of the day circling over and over in his mind. Instead, as soon as he lay his head on the pillow, his thoughts broke up into the surreal images that signaled dreamtime was taking over.

 ###

 As the waking world came to focus, the clutter of boxes overflowing with various household items looked utterly unfamiliar. Q sat up, taking a few moments to realise where he was.

 He climbed out of bed, the too loose pajamas slipping down his hips. Q lifted them and tied the string tighter. Once opening the door, the tantalizing smell of pancakes forced him to venture down the hall to the kitchen. Here, he came cross a rather astonishing sight.

James Bond, standing by a stove, a fry pan in hand, flipping pancakes.

 “Did you sleep alright?” He indicated the kitchen counter, where a plate of already cooked pancakes beckoned, with a couple of plates and cutlery alongside, along with a bottle of maple syrup.

 “I slept fine.” Q took one of the proffered plates and piled a couple of pancakes on top, smothering them in maple syrup. “You?”

 “I have a bit of a stiff neck from the couch. Would have been better to have a bed but I’ll be alright.”

 For a moment, they caught eyes.  Q looked away and picked up a knife and fork, bringing his pancakes to the dining table opposite.

 “Where’s Kincaide?” He asked, as he started to dig into his food. They were a little thinner than he usually liked, but otherwise they were quite good.

 “Gone outside to collect the eggs from the barn. He offered to make us scrambled eggs for breakfast. I just couldn’t get over my hankering for pancakes.”

 “Hm…” Q swallowed his mouthful. “You have to admit, this is rather odd, us sitting having breakfast together.”

 “Well, I’m cooking, not sitting with you.”

 “Even odder.” Q looked up and smirked at him. “Not bad at all. I wouldn’t be too upset if you wished to make all the dinners.”

 “Well, you can make yourself useful. When you’ve finished there, you might want to take a look at Kincaide’s computer. It has a virus on it.”

 Q shrugged. “No problem.”

 ###

It only took a few minutes to wipe the virus from Kincaide’s computer.

 “Should be fine now.” He wasn’t going to admit to himself that he had felt a surge of pride, upon seeing the old man’s relieved face.

 “Thank you! I haven’t been able to use that computer for months!”

 “Well-“

 James suddenly rushed into the room, mobile phone in hand.

 “It’s M.” He pressed he loudspeaker and placed the phone on the computer desk.

 “There has been a terrorist attack in Shanghai.” M spoke from within the small earpiece.

 Q frowned and clicked on the Internet explorer icon on Kincaide’s computer, typing ‘bbcnews’ into the browser. The front page’s headline read ’10 Dead, Dozens Injured in Terrorist Attack in Shanghai’.

 “Five of the deceased have been identified as being ones who tortured Silva.” M continued

 All three men looked to each other.

 “Hold fast, men. Hold fast.” The line went dead.

 “We need to leave, now.” James said.

 Q looked down at Kincaide’s borrowed clothes. He had not had the time to dress, from the night before.

 “But-“

 “Let’s go.” Kincaide started to follow James out of the house. “We’ll use my car.”

 “Someone tell me what’s going on!” Q trailed behind them.

 James didn’t even look back, as he got into the car. “Hold fast is a code. This place is compromised. Silva knows where we are.”

 Tbc…

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes: Finally came back to this after… over six months? I’m terribly sorry to any who was following this. I sort of lost interest and went onto other things. I recently saw ‘Cloud Atlas’ and was reminded again of the amazement that is Ben Whishaw (I also heard the news of his marriage to Mark Bradshaw…damn that is one cute couple :)). Anyway, I decided to revisit this fic. Enjoy!

 

 

After fourteen hours of straight driving, Bond was quite certain of two things. Firstly, Silva and his goons would certainly not know where they were. Secondly, he was overwhelmingly tired. The first few hours out had been very intense, indeed. Q had applied his immense brain towards Kincaide and Bond’s mobiles, rerouting any signal from calls to or from the phones, to the Australian desert. Relieved in the knowledge that Silva would not be able to trace them, James rang M. The conversation was short, but direct. After inexplicably fixing the computers he had hacked, Silva had escaped from HQ. Twelve agents had been killed. The last image he’d projected onto M’s laptop, had been an image of Kincaide’s house.

 

They moved further into the darkened forest, the terrain rough, the coarse uneveness of the road bumping the passengers to and fro, despite the four-wheel drive’s sturdy wheels.

 

“Not much further now.” Kincaide said.

James glanced into the rearvision window. Q still lay curled up on the back seat, a thick quilt covering his thin body. For not the first time in this journey, he found himself feeling grateful towards his old friend. The night before, Kincaide had started to pack the car with camping equipment, as well as spare clothes.

 

“I had a feeling we would be forced to move on.” He had admitted.

 

“I think this will do.” James said, slamming on the brakes. Kincaide put his hand up against the glove box to cease from slamming into it. Q moaned, then curled up further into himself.

 

Kincaide frowned. “It’s just there’s a river further up ahead.“

 

“Where there’s a river, there’s a chance to be people.” Bond advised.

 

“You’re right. You’re right. It’s just… this will be a bugger to put the tents up in.”

 

###

Though the leafy canopy of the forest floor looked to be a very inviting bed, James reluctantly helped Kincaide put up the two tents. It took quite some effort, despite the rather bright moon bearing down on them.

 

Q did not stir.

 

James started to deliberately make more noise, as he lifted the various camping items out of the boot.

 

“Where’s the third tent?” He asked. “Kincaide?”

 

Kincaide poked his head out from the second tent, where he’d been arranging bedding.

 

“There is no third tent. You and Q will have to share.” He poked his head quickly back in.

 

“Share?!”

 

Kincaide looked back out and grinned at him. “I snore. Neither of you want to sleep in the same tent as me. Believe me on this one.”

 

“I don’t think so. I’ll sleep in the car.”

 

Kincaide shrugged. “Fine then. Just let him sleep, then. He’ll be comfortable until the morning.”

 

James looked back to the car, lips down turned into a frown.

 

“Now, this is interesting.”

 

“What’s interesting?” James didn’t even bother attempting to disguise his irritation.

 

“The James I know is secure in his sexuality. He wouldn’t think twice about sleeping in the same tent as another man…. Unless… of course… he had desire for that other man… now that would-“

 

“Oh shut up!” Ignoring Kincaide’s chuckle, James stormed over to the car, rapping sharply on the back window. Q flinched then raised his head.

 

“Where are we?”

 

“Somewhere in North Wales. Don’t worry. They won’t find us. Not here. Considering I don’t even know exactly where we are.”

 

Q yawned, covering his mouth with his hand, in a gesture of politeness that  James momentarily found endearing. “I’m so sorry that I fell asleep.”

 

James shrugged. “We put the tent up. You may be more comfortable in there.”

 

“Oh, ok.”

 

James turned to Kincaide, who now was digging out handfuls of grass and mud, in a clear attempt to provide a clearing for a fire. Considering the dampness of the foliage around them, James seriously did not like his chances, that night. He glared at the man, who grinned back at him, then turne back to Q and opened the car door.

“Unfortunately, we only have two tents. So, either you and I can share, or I’ll sleep in the car.”

 

Q yawned once more, then pointed at the green canvas five or so metres before him. “That looks like a two man-er. Plenty of room for both of us.” He grinned at James. “I would feel bad if you had to sleep all crumpled up in the car. Right now, my back is aching.”

 

“I’m going to stay up a while, anyway.” James gestured towards Kincaide.

 

“You don’t mind if I-?” Q indicated to the tent. James shrugged.

 

Though he felt so weary, every movement felt as though his bones were made of lead, he forced himself over to Kincaide and sat down in the foliage.

 

“You won’t get it going.” He said, watching the older man start to gather twigs and branches from the surrounding area.

 

###

 

Kincaide proved James wrong within the next ten minutes. He watched the growing flame with the careful eye of a professional, poking it with the stick he’d judiciously chosen out of a dozen of similar ilk.

 

“Hopefully it won’t rain.” James shifted to the left, to avoid the smoke now issuing in his direction.

 

Kincaide pointed at a branch he’d laid by the fire. “Make yourself useful, will you?”

 

Grunting with distaste, James grabbed the branch and started to break it up with his hands.

 

“I don’t know how useful he’ll be out here.” He gestured towards the two-man tent, with his head.

 

“You may be surprised.”

 

“Come on.” The sharp snap of a particularly thick branch across James’ knee echoed through the wooded area. “He’s going to continue to be a liability. Why are we fooling ourselves?”

 

Kincaide grabbed a broken off piece of branch near James. “Liability?” He asked, frowning. “How has he been a liability? If anything, he has been a commodity-“

 

“If it wasn’t for him we wouldn’t be here to begin with!” James snapped another large stick in half with his meaty hands.

 

Kincaide pulled away from where he had been arranging the fire, to turn to face James directly.

 

“From what you have both told me, I would argue his kidnapping was more a result of a blunder of MI5.”

 

“Oh come on, Kincaide. Silva specifically went after him. And it wasn’t just to draw me in. His intentions were pretty clear.”

 

For a moment, Kincaide simply stared at him. “James…” He said, quietly. “I honestly always knew that your views were not always so… modern… but…surely you are not blaming Q for the fact that Silva planned to rape him?”

 

James paused a moment, seeming to talk into his palms. “Why did they even hire him? Surely they could see this could be possible.”

 

“James… I admit you have me baffled!”

 

“Look at him!” James whispered, viciously. “How many computer geniuses do you know who look like that?”

 

It all started to fall into place. Kincaide felt a knot develop in his stomach. “Predators have all kinds of reasons for picking their victims.”

 

“Silva specifically picked Q because he found him pretty! You can’t deny that!”

 

“Even if this is true, it does not make Q a liability. Do you even recognize the ridiculousness of your argument right now? Q’s physicality does not make him any more or less of a target for predators!”

 

“That bastard must have been planning this from the moment he saw him!”

 

“Why don’t you just admit it, James? What’s getting you so angry is that you are attracted to Q, and you can’t bear the thought of another man almost having him.”

 

“How could you even-? The fact that Silva almost raped him makes me wish I’d caved his head in when I had the chance! It certainly does not make me think ‘damn another man almost got to fuck him, wish it had been me’!”

 

“I know, I know. I just wanted you to see the ridiculousness of your argument.” Kincaid paused. “I think you seeing him as a liability has nothing to do with what Silva did. I think it’s more to do with the fact that you’re attracted to him.”

 

James and Kincaide were so intent on their argument that they didn’t hear the tent zip opening, didn’t even hear the patter of feet until Q was standing right beside them.

 

“I think it’s best if I tell you both that I heard every bit of that conversation. Sort of stupid to have a discussion about me when I’m only a few metres away.” There was no anger in Q’s voice, merely a tired resignation.

 

Tbc…

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who are reading (and particularly still reading after the long hiatus). FYI this James Bond is purely based off the Daniel Craig series (I truly loved that they retained the major elements of the character but managed to bring him forward to the modern times, and lose some of the less pc aspects of his personality.) Enjoy!

James turned, deliberately squashing down the guilt churning in his stomach. Q stood just outside the perimetre of the dancing flame. James noticed the tremble that moved through the slender body.

 

Without speaking, James took off his black woolen coat, moved to the young man and placed it around his shoulders.

 

“Sit by the fire.” It was more of an order than a suggestion.

 

With an expression like James had just told him to swallow six red peppers whole, Q walked to a fold out chair that Kincaide had miraculously pulled out from, it seemed, the air. Once the three sat down again, Q began to speak.

 

“After I got the position, I actually did some combat training. Obviously not to the level that you are at-“ Q turned sharply towards James.

 

“Q-“ Kincaide said.

 

“I may seem like a mere computer whiz to you, but I received full marks for both marksmanship and hand to hand combat.” As he spoke, his voice rose.

 

Better than me, kid! James thought, recalling his disastrous retraining of the year before.

 

“Let me refresh you on a few things. I was the one who knocked out Silva, before you arrived! I wasn’t sitting there like some victim, waiting for you to come save me!”

 

“Q, this-“

 

The young man moved so fast, and with such unexpected movement, that it took James completely off guard. He suddenly found himself knocked backwards off his folding chair onto the ground, a burning branch up close to his face.

 

“You think I’m more likely to be a victim because… why? I’m slighter than you? Or less experienced with a gun? So you think every skinny person in the world deserves to be a victim?”

 

With every word, the branch jabbed closer to his cheekbone. James put his hand up in placation.

 

“Actually, that is not what I was saying. You misheard!”

 

“I heard you perfectly clear! You called me a liability!”

 

James sighed. “What exactly _did_ you hear?”

 

This did cause Q to pause. “I heard enough. Ok, maybe not all of it. There was a lot of whispering. But I got the gist. You clearly think I’m not ‘macho’ enough for the likes of you!”

 

“Then you did miss the whole point!” James argued. “What I was saying was…” _Oh hell, he really didn’t want to do this._

 

“Not all of us can be gung-ho supermen! Some of us have to be the brains. Has it occurred to you that you aren’t exactly the smartest person to be around? Do you ever think that that makes _you_ the liability?”

 

“Q, that wasn’t what he was saying.” At Kincaide speaking, Q finally relented, moving the branch ( _thank you, finally! Damn it!)_ away from James’ face and stepping away from him. James up righted his chair and sat down.

 

“I was saying… Silva went after you because…”

 

“Because why?”

 

Hell, why was this so difficult? He’d rather take on a thousand terrorists than finish this sentence.

 

“Because he found you attractive. He specifically wrote it in a message to M, before he kidnapped you. He thinks you’re _pretty_.”

 

For a moment, Q didn’t speak. “I don’t understand what one sociopath’s unwelcome… attraction towards me has to do with me being a liability.”

 

James sighed, rubbed his face with his hands “Because this will keep happening. Certain… predators like nothing better than to destroy beauty, when they see it.”

 

This time, the silence stretched out longer. “I really don’t know how to respond to this.  For one thing, I don’t fit the paradigm of beauty… of which I’m not even sure what it is, any way. And even if I did, I don’t see what has to do with predators, who have a myriad of reasons for their actions. Sexual exploitation is such a complicated…” He shook his head. “If you think it’s as simple as wanting to destroy beauty or any such ridiculous notion… to be honest, I don’t even know where to begin to see the logic in your thinking.”

 

“Look, I can tell you something.” James said. “Before I first met you, I had at least five people, tell me about the new Q. Not just ‘he’s young’ but also ‘he’s a real pretty boy.”

 

He wasn’t going to add that the people who told him this were all men, and they all said ‘pretty boy’ with a certain distain. M had been different. She’d simply said, “He’s the youngest quartermaster we’ve had. But I’d argue he’s the most brilliant.”   James shied away from thinking about M, pushing aside the sharp sting that still pierced his chest, whenever her face came into view, in his mind.

 

“And when I saw you, I had to concur. You are a very pretty man.”

 

“This is…ridiculous…” Q looked to Kincaide, as though for help.

 

“He's right. You are a very beautiful young man. Not very many ones like that in MI5. Not with people like James still skulking around the corridors.” Kincaide attempted some levity.

 And fuck you too, James thought, catching the merriment in the older man's eyes.

“So, _of course_ Silva saw you and wanted you.” James said.

 

“Silva is a twisted rapist fuck! He also sexually harassed you! I saw the report.”

 

“He wanted to _fuck_ you, and he won’t be the last…” James wasn’t going to be deterred.

 

“So, by your understanding, every twisted rapist fuck the organization comes across, will go after me, because I’m a _pretty boy_? What about all the pretty _girls_ in the organization? Are they also liabilities, because, by your reasoning, they also might get raped? Moneypenny, she’s a looker. Should we just fire her now? Or is it more…?” His eyes widened slightly. “My god…they told me your beliefs were ancient. Just to keep things on a very superficial level. But never did I think…” He swallowed. “Are you… jealous because Silva almost fucked me? This is what this has all been about, hasn’t it? My god…”

 

James recalled the earlier argument of the night.

 

_Oh god damn it! Not again!_

 

“How dare you accuse me of such a thing! I felt absolutely appalled by what Silva almost did to you!”

 

“Only because you wanted to do it yourself!” Q shot back.

 

James felt sickened, the muscles in his stomach spasming wildly.

 

“You’re saying I would want to rape you? Do you honestly believe that of me?”

 

“I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me.”

 

Now, it was James’ turn to be dumbfounded.

 

“You’re a very pretty man… Of course I’m going to look at you! But that doesn’t mean-“

 

“You just said it yourself. I’m a liability. I’m _pretty_. Certain predators love to destroy beauty, as they see it. Are you saying that because you are one?”

 

“Q…” Kincaide jumped in. “I’ve known James most of his life. He’s probably the furtherest thing from a saint you could find. But he is a good man…” He flailed.

 

“No…” James disagreed. “I’m not a good man. Far from it. But I will tell you the absolute truth. You are safe. I will not harm you.  And with Silva…I don’t feel jealous… I feel furious! He had no right to touch you! To even lay a single finger upon you makes me want to rip his testicles out! And fine, of course I want to fuck you. You’d find quite a few back at HQ who would agree with me.  But not like Silva. I like my sexual partners screaming in ecstasy and begging me for more, not screaming in horror and begging me to stop. I just don’t find it a fucking turn on!”

 

Well, that certainly shut up the conversation. Kincaide slightly smiled, shaking his head.

 

“I think I’m going to… call it a night. I’ll see you two in the morning.”

 

James watched, with some despair, as the older man disappeared into his own tent.

_Yes, thanks. Thanks Kincaide, for leaving me out here after that._

 “Well, that was certainly the least romantic way anyone has ever told me that they want to have sex with me.” Q said.

 

James shrugged. He always did everything bloody backwards. Why should this be any different?

 

“No, I take that back. Apart from Silva. But no… I don’t want to think about him. Not now. ” Q frowned, bit into his top lip. “Not… no. You’re here and. You’re bloody James Bond…You’re… I can’t even…”

 

This time, James saw the swift movement, and moved to block, but stopped when soft lips suddenly landed on his own. Instead of moving his hand up to push Q away, he curled it around the back of his head to pull him in further, relishing in the soft hair under his hands, the electrified feeling extending from his groin, as their tongues battling for dominance. Q finally pulled away, pupils so dilated they almost covered the entire irises.

 

“If you want to… have me screaming in ecstasy and begging for more…”

 

James was suddenly ecstatic himself… towards Kincaide, for allowing them to share a tent. He grabbed Q by his collar and pulled him forward once more, slamming their lips together, and using merely his tongue to have Q moaning into his mouth.

 

“We need to put out the fire.” He said, once they released. For a moment, Q’s expression was one of confusion. “I think it would be better if we continued this in our tent, don’t you?”

 

Q’s smile told him the clear affirmative answer.

 

Tbc…


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all reading, reviewing and sending kudos! Nearing the end now. Enjoy :)

 

“Oh yes… oh…”  Q’s voice was as succulent to his ears, as a mature brandy usually was to his tastebuds. The trembling flesh felt soft and pliant under his roaming hands.

 

James relaxed his gag reflex, moving his head even further forward to allow more of his lover’s erection into his mouth. He had promised Q that he would shout out with ecstasy and thus would not be content until he heard such a victorious cry. His lube covered fingers pressed deeper into the puckered entrance. As he felt the erection move into his throat, while his fingers simultaneously pressed up hard against his lover’s prostate, he received the required response. Q screamed like a banshee warning about the most hideous of evils. Not wanting it to end too soon, James tenderly pulled his fingers out, then fumbled for one of the condoms he’d flung about the tent, earlier, when he had been hastily searching the backpack he’d packed the day before. Q looked up at him, face slightly flushed, hair mussed, eyes sparkling.

_So damned pretty..._

“That is so hot…” He panted, watching James roll the condom onto his length. Admiring the glistening, trembling body, it occurred to James that pretty was not the correct adjective to describe his partner.

  _Beautiful..._

Yes, that seemed far more precise. He rarely described men as such but, with this one, he could no longer deny himself.

 

“How do you want me?” James asked.

 

Q assented by rolling over onto his stomach. “Go slow.” He said, a slight tremor in his voice.

 

James positioned himself on top, kissing along the line of his shoulders. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

 

Q responded by shivering, once more. James slid into him, with almost painful slowness, aware of the impatient moans of the one beneath him. Buried to the hilt, he then reached around, stroking the now flagging erection. Though he was tempted to slam into the tight heat surrounding him, he forced himself to stay still, instead concentrating on his partner, stroking him to full erection once more, as he placed lips on the long neck, tenderly sucking the soft flesh. Q’s moans deepened. He started to move beneath James.  James allowed himself to move with him. Soon, both were in a rhythm together.

 

Yes, yes it had been a while… so long with a beautiful man…

 

No, never with one this beautiful.

 

James shuddered, groaned, and moved a little faster. Q moved with him, moaning even louder. Before, when he’d used his lips, tongue and hand to pleasure his lover, he had brought Q to the brink of ecstasy, and then stopped his ministrations. After the third time James had denied him an orgasm, Q had begged him to keep going. Now, he felt no need for such sexual hijinks, particularly as he was starting to feel the peak gather himself.

 

“Come for me.” He whispered, kissing the sweat slicked skin beneath the curve of his ear. Q moaned. “You’re so beautiful…”

 

He redoubled his strokes, feeling the organ jolt in his hand, as the heat constricted even further around his own erection, forcing his own climax, that was so hard, he allowed himself to shout out the ecstasy of it.

 

James collapsed on top of his new lover, allowing them both a moment to recover, before tenderly pulling out, removing the condom, opening the zip of the tent and throwing it outside. For a moment, the chill of an icy wind pierced his body. He quickly rezipped up the tent then climbed under the two now open sleeping bags, pulling Q’s body to him, and allowing the younger man to mould around him, his head on his chest.

 

“You don’t think Kincaide heard?”

 

“He’ll sleep through world war 3. But he will undoubtedly know, anyway. Man’s like a damned hound.”

 

“Oh… oh well.” Q paused. “I hope you know that I’m not… I mean I don’t usually…”

 

“It’s ok…” James reached up a hand to tenderly stroke the rough curls on his head. “I don’t care.”

 

“I’ll probably die, now. Isn’t that what usually happens to your conquests?” He paused. “Sorry, I don’t even know why I said that. That was so… that was terrible.”

 

James laughed. “The life of a spy, I guess. I hope you don’t die. I was hoping we could go at least once more, before morning.”

 

###

 

Q felt himself succumb to wakefulness in increasing increments. A part of him didn’t wish to do so. If he remained in sleep’s fulfilled embrace, then he wouldn’t be forced into the reality of waking, of discovering that perhaps the night before had been nothing more than a vivid fantasy. It seemed, to his drowsy mind, to be impossible.

_James damned Bond. No, not possible for me to be that lucky._

 

Though he felt the warmth of another human close to him, verifying the truth of the misadventures of the night before, he still did not wish to confirm it, lest he open his eyes to the cold, familiar loneliness of an empty bed.

 

“Good morning.” The voice was deep.

 

His heart pounding, his stomach twisting with excitement, Q opened his eyes. James was looking at him with a peculiar expression. If Q was mistaken, it almost looked… content. Yes, it did look unusual on the face of a man who seemed constantly at odds with everything around himself.

 

“How long have you been watching me?” He yawned.

James leant forward, peppering his nose, his cheeks, his eyelids with soft kisses.

 

“How about I make you moan some more?” James said, in such a husky voice that Q found himself with no choice but to accede to his partner’s will.

 

Real! He kept telling himself over and over, as a part of himself still felt unable to believe it.

###

 

Half an hour later, Q took pleasure in lazily watching the lovely lines of James’ muscular body, as he dressed.

 

“If Kincaide is awake, he would have definitely heard us, that time.”

 

“Probably.” James said, frowning. He zipped up his parker, and then leant forward to peck Q on the lips. “You should get dressed. A lot to do today.”

 

“Mm…” Q collapsed back on his pillow. A lot to do… like collect firewood?

 

_You know what he’s talking about. Sooner or later, you are going to have to discuss what to do about Silva._

 

At the thought of that name, Q shuddered. He recalled the unwelcome hands on him, so different from James, then felt a shiver of guilt pass over him, at his words the night before. He had all but accused James of wishing to force him, as Silva had. But despite all of James faults, he could never enact what Silva wanted. Q knew this now. If anything, James dedicated his lovemaking towards Q’s utmost pleasure, seeming to derive his own from Q’s pleasured exclamations. Q had never been a loud lover… until now. But then, he thought to himself, of course James Bond would be the one to bring that side of him out. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to blissfully succumb, once more.

 

###

Q awoke to an empty bed beside him, but without the usual innate loneliness that always accompanied it. He stretched, and then reached for his bag for his clothes, swiftly changing.

 

Kincaide had started up the fire again, for which he was most grateful. As soon as he opened up the tent, a blast of frigid air hit his face. Forcing his hands into his sleeves, he wrapped his coat tighter around his body and stepped out, zipping the tent behind himself. He saw Kincaide’s back bent over  the fire, in which sausages fried in a pan.

 

“Hello.” He said, his awkwardness evident in his tone.

 

 The older man looked up and favoured Q with a smile, and then looked back down again. Q froze. In that brief moment of upturned lips, Kincaide had told him everything. He knew about what had happened between him and James. He was fine with it. He was not surprised. Q felt heat rush to his face. He wasn’t the type to deny any romantic involvement with anyone. But this was… hell, this was James Bond.

 

“Come, sit down. I’m making sausages.” Kincaide gestured him over.

 

Forcing a smile, Q pulled up a fold up chair from the night before and sat to the right of him, a little back from the smoke.

 

“James is collecting more firewood. He’ll be back soon.” Kincaide said, handing Q a plate. “It seems you and James worked out your differences.”

 

So, there it was.

 

Q could not suppress a feeling of absolute mortification.

 

“I’m sorry if you-“ _heard._

 

“It’s alright.” Kincaide said, sticking fork in one of the sizzling sausages, and placing it on Q’s plate. “You don’t need to worry, you know. He really does like you.”

 

_I’m not… am I?_

“In fact, what I want to say to you is… He’s more vulnerable than he appears. I’ve known him most of his life, so I feel I do know him more than most. Probably more than he knows himself. So, if you’re going to hurt him, pull out now, before he grows even more fond of you.”

 

For a moment, Q felt too overcome to talk. The thought that _he_ would be the one to hurt James Bond… it was preposterous. No, surely this was some kind of elaborate joke. He looked at Kincaide’s face. He looked as though he wasn’t lying… but then, he didn’t know the man all that well…

 

“I-“

 

The stamping of feet behind him signaled James coming back into the camp. Q’s _(anxiety_ ) curiosity over how James would now treat him in front of Kincaide, was swiftly resolved, when James threw the wood down by the fire, grabbed Q around the chest in a hug, and gave him a slobbery kiss on his neck, before grabbing a chair and sitting next to him.

 

“We need to come up with a plan.”

 

“I couldn’t agree more.” Kincaide said.

 

“I’m not going to stay here. Not when agents are dying. If we go back now, it will be the opposite of what Silva would be expecting.”

 

“Or exactly what he would be expecting.” Q said, picking at his sausage with his fingers, and frowning at the heat penetrating his flesh. Kincaide reached down beside himself, and then came back up with a plastic fork, handing it over to him with an apologetic gesture.

 

“We don’t know what Silva’s end plan is.” Kincaide said. “But I agree that staying here is not a viable option. Silva… we don’t know what his ultimate end game is.”

 

“Not entirely. But what we know for sure is that he wants me dead.”

 

And he wants to rape me, Q thought, but then quickly switched his mind away from that line of thinking. Better to consider other, more positive topics…. Like James’ mouth bringing him to completion. Yes that…

 

 _No, not here. Not when they’re talking ‘business’_. He crossed his legs to cover his sudden growing erection.

 

“If we stay here, he’ll find a way to have an advantage. I say we turn the tables. Let’s make our own advantage.” James said, eyes blazing.

 

###

 

He came back because of the ring. Two hours from the end of an (always) hectic day, he’d received a frantic email from his daughter. She’d left her ring in the bathroom. Was it possible for him to pick it up, before finally coming to the safety house? M’s initial reaction was one of fury. Did she have no idea of the danger that the family was in? Clearly not! But then he calmed himself. He realized he was the one that was being rather ridiculous. Of course, his daughter knew little to nothing about his work, so would have no idea of the true danger she was in. He had told his family a (small) lie about a potential terrorist attack in London and that they were getting diplomats and their families out.  Standing by the family land rover, his daughter had been determined to ring her friends, to warn them of the danger. His wife, however, with a determined expression in her beautiful large brown eyes, that was in sharp contrast to the sudden paleness of her pallor, adamantly told their daughter to shut up and get in the car. His daughter shouted, but, such was the expression on her mother’s face, that she did as she bid. M had then told them he needed to go back to work. He would come with them later.

 

“Be safe.” The expression on her face told him everything. She knew he was lying, but also was aware that he wouldn’t be doing this, if there wasn’t a very serious reason for it.

 

He did very much intend to go straight to the safe house after work, only the damned ring, the one they had given her for her tenth birthday and that she constantly wore (apart from when she was in the shower, as she had been when M and the agents had rushed to the house to get them out) had to be found. Which meant going back to the house.

 

M located it straight away on the bathroom sink, by the hot faucet. Such was his rush to be in and out of the house quickly, that he didn’t even notice that he wasn’t alone, until he was rushing out of the room, and heard footsteps behind him. He swiftly took his gun out from its shoulder holster, spun around and pointed it at the man standing at the edge of the hallway, by the kitchen. Silva also had his own weapon trained on M.

 

“This is getting really predictable.” M said, keeping the gun steady, as he edged forward. On his side, Silva didn’t move, simply stood with his legs slightly apart, a feral grin on his face. “What can I do for you, Silva?”

 

The grin grew wider. “Right now, I have two snipers with their guns trained on 22b Carcadia Crescent.”

 

M felt the odd sensation of all of his organs turning to water. He should have expected this, in some ways did, yet the knowledge did not cease the sudden explosion of his heart in his chest. It sounded so loud in his ears that he was certain that Silva, standing a good few metres away, could also hear the lub dub of the valves closing, in rapid motion.

 

“Verification will be given in a few seconds. They will ring the house, pretending to be from your agency. When your wife rings here to confirm, you will tell her that nothing is wrong. She is safe. If not, I will get one of the snipers to shoot your daughter in the head.”

 

The loud shrill of the phone suddenly echoed throughout the house. M looked at the grinning, yet emotionless face of Silva, and realized, with dismay, that he had no choice but to do whatever he asked.

 

Tbc…


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second last chapter! Thanks to all who are reading, reviewing, sending kudos. It's 1.30am as I put this up, so hopefully it won't have too many minor mistakes. Enjoy!

The bulky man stood by the front door of the  terrace house, cradling a machine gun. The bullet that entered his temple instantly, and efficiently, removed the possibility of him being a problem. James thought to himself (not for the first time) that, for all of Silva’s genius, he could choose smarter henchmen. There would undoubtedly be another by the back door, and more inside, but James was not concerned about them. By now, Silva would know that he had company.

 

He looked across to Q, standing close behind him. The young man held an oddly strained, fierce expression.  James had the distinct impression that he was attempting, for his sake, to not show fear, and failing rather spectacularly.  James did not fault him for this. He was, after all, a computer expert. As he told James, with the right technological tools in front of him, he could cause utter devestation. However, out in the field, his failings became apparent.

 

_Damn, has Q ever even touched a gun before?_

 

James inwardly kicked himself for never thinking to ask. Dinosaur. Wasn’t that what the old M called him? Perhaps she was more right than he had previously considered.

_A new agent would have at least asked Q if he could handle a weapon!_

 

Damn, everything was so turned around. Maybe he needed another damned holiday, not to be tramping around his boss's house, on some gung ho mission-

 

“James-“ Q whispered.

 

James put a finger up  to his lips. James got the message and instantly closed his mouth.

 

_Good boy._

 

Q was… hell, he certainly was something. No one was going to hurt him. James was going to make damned sure of that.

 

This went beyond his general need to protect another human being, in particular, another agent.

 

There was something about Q, that went beyond the beautiful face and delicate hands, beyond the casual, sometimes very caustic humour and shy demeneur. James was determined to discover every hidden facet of this intriguing young man.

 

Well, he figured, seeing as Silva by now knew that they were there, no point in delaying any longer. He fired his weapon at the door lock. It exploded into tiny bits (For a moment, he thought of the hell Mallory would put him through, for destroying his front door), then, after passing an amused look with Q, James kicked the door open, and (with the expectation of gun fire) leaped to the side.

 

Nothing happened.

 

Risking looking into the room, to cover his left and right, he noted a rather spacious lounge room. The lounge chairs had been pushed to the back wall.  Two men, holding revolvers, stood  to the back of the room, before the start of a winding staircase. Silva stood in the centre, in front of a wide coffee table. From his angle, he could not see Mallory.

                       

“Come in, Bond. I promise you will not be harmed.”

 

Ignoring the slight disgust even the voice of his enemy engendered within himself, James turned back to Q, who by now was unable to control his expression of unease, the slight tremble in his body. James’ mind went to the night before, the sight of the young man’s naked body, so beautiful beneath him. There was true vulnerability, to give oneself so openly. He thought of Q’s bravery, now. He had willingly, indeed, stubbornly insisted on being involved with the plan. James was initially reluctant, feeling that the young man may be more of a risk, than a benefit. Now, he realized what sacrifices Q was willing to make. Should the plan go awry, James would be killed. So would Mallory.

 

They would kill Q eventually. After they grew tired of him. Or, they would simply sell him off, as they had done with Severine, so that others could find pleasure in his suffering also.

 

James felt his heart beat a little faster, his stomach twisting with anxiety.

 

It will work, he told himself. The plan will succeed.

 

Nodding to Q, he stepped into the foyer, gun pointed before him. Finally, he could see Mallory, tied to a chair in the far corner of the lounge room beyond, a little to the right of one of the henchmen. A fantastically large plasma television made up the entire wall directly behind him. Bond made an internal note to later ask him where he had brought the monstrocity.  Upon seeing Q step in behind James, Silva’s smile grew wider, more predatory.

 

“What is your plan, Silva?” James asked, deliberately moving in a way as to cover Q. “You have what you want. You have me. You have Q. You have Mallory.”

 

“Where is your other friend?” Silva asked.

 

James laughed. “Do you really think he wants to be involved in any more of this? You won’t find him. Don’t even bother. He’s long gone.”

 

“Hm…” Silva’s dark eyes darted to one of his henchmen, who pointed a gun at Mallory’s head.

 

“We are at an impasse. You shoot him and I shoot you. Fair deal would you say?” James said.

 

“If I die, it will send a signal to the snipers out the front of Mallory’s safe house to shoot both his wife and daughter in the face.”

 

Outwardly conceding defeat, James lowered his weapon.

 

_You are getting far too predictable, Silva._

 

“Good.” Silva smiled, nodding at his men, who instantly rushed over to grab James, forcing his hands to his back and slamming handcuffs around them, before dragging him over, then down, to recuff one of the cuffs around the leg of the coffee table centering the room, forcing him in a sitting position on the floor.

 

Silva stepped in front of the now determined yet frightened looking Q and ran a hand through his hair, murmuring under his breath. Growling to himself, James tested the cuffs. The coffee table was heavy, and piled with books. Even with all of his strength pulling at it, it moved less than half of a centimetre.

 

“Brave boy. You shouldn’t have come back. You know what I’ll do to you.”

 

Q simply stood facing him, trembling. He did not break eye contact.

 

“Do what you want. Just don’t hurt the others.” His voice did not tremble.

 

“Later. I promise. But, for now, I have other things to attend to.” He turned and winked at James. “But, I don’t see why, in the meantime, my friend’s cannot have their fun.”

 

James growled once more, and Mallory shouted out with anger, calling Silva a name even James had not heard of before, and thought was rather inventive.

 

Silva simply laughed, roughly pushing Q towards his clearly gleeful henchmen.

 

“I only ask two things. Firstly, use protection. Secondly, don’t damage him. I expect him to be clean, and still useable, when I have him after.”

 

James and Mallory again shouted out abuse, as the eager looking men grabbed Q by the front of his shirt and started forcing him up the stairs.

 

“Wait, no, please.” Q said. “Wait, Silva. Please don’t!”

 

“Oh and pretty boy. If you try anything, like you did before, I will have no hesitation in shooting Bond here in the face.”

 

Seeing the terror in Q’s face as he was dragged off,  James slammed the cuffs so hard against the wood of the table leg that the edges dug deep into his wrists, drawing blood. He relished the pain, it gave him something to concentrate on, other than Q, and what they would do to him.

 

Remember the plan, he told himself. He can defend himself. He’s proved it.

 

Against two armed men? A doubtful voice retorted.

 

“This is your fault.” A large hand grabbed his chin, forcing him to look into Silva’s dark eyes. “Your young friend will be violated because you brought him here. Now why did you do that? He will blame you. He will blame you for the rest of his life.”

 

“I’m not the one who is letting my henchmen rape him. I wouldn’t go there after them, if I were you.” James grinned, the rest of his face stony, not allowing Silva to see the true fury festering inside of him. “I wouldn’t like to think what kind of STDs they have. What you’ll pick up.”

 

“I guess like you, huh?” Silva grinned, then stood up once more. “This I never understood. Why you? What exactly makes you special? The other M defended you, constantly. Yet, you are, frankly, vastly incompetent. The pretty one upstairs is far more intelligent than you, Mallory here was a better agent in his first two years in the SAS than you have been in your entire twenty years as an agent. You’re a lumbering oxen alcoholic, and yet you continue to dazzle people who should know better. This I don’t understand.”

 

From upstairs, a scream shouted. Then another. James forced himself not to react.

 

“You have had him already, haven’t you?” Silva gestured upstairs. “Is he as good as he looks? I bet he is. Only the best for James Bond, right?”

 

James forced his lips up into a grin. “You still haven’t told me what you want.”

 

“What I want…?” A strange look came over Silva’s face, one that suddenly iced over James’s stomach. “See, the way I see it, it’s because of you that a lot of people have been screwed. I think it’s time they had their revenge, don’t you?”

 

As Silva advanced, James half stood, launching a kick up. Silva darted to the side at the last minute, so that James’ foot merely glanced off his hip.

 

“I wouldn’t.” Silva said.

 

James relented at the feel of the narrow barrel pushed into the back of his head. Silva undid the cuffs attaching his hands to the leg of the coffee table, and reattached them around James’ wrists,  then swiftly threw him over said table. James thought over his options. Surely, Silva wouldn’t shoot him in the back of the head?

 

Yes, considering everything the man had done in the past, that was very likely.

 

“Silva stop this! Stop this insanity!” Mallory was shouting.

 

A loud thump sounded upstairs.

 

“Move and I will shoot you in the back of the head.” Silva said.  

“Silva, let’s negotiate! You know I can do a lot for you.” Mallory shouted. “I’m not like the other M.”

 

“Be quiet, Mallory. And enjoy the show.” James could hear humour in the psychopath’s voice. He felt his throat dry, his legs tremble, as the hand that wasn’t holding the gun to his head, started fumbling with his belt.

 

In the past, they had shot at him. One his own had even succeeded.

 

 They had stripped him naked and whipped his testicles. They had beaten him. They had tortured him.

 

With everything that had ever happened to him, the threat of rape was something he had never considered. Not even when Silva had touched him, running his unwelcome fingers over his body, did he believe that he would go so far.

 

Yes, agents of both genders could be, and had been, raped. But he never considered the possibility that it could happen to him.

 

_Don’t be so daft, James! He’s intent on raping Q, so he clearly has a taste for it. Why wouldn’t he try you too? Not pretty enough?_

 

“No…” He moaned.

 

Then the footsteps darted down the stairs. A voice sounded from the back of the room.

 

“Get away, or I shoot you in the face. Right now.”

 

###

 

On the drive back to London, James had constantly stated his apprehension about Q’s role in their plan.

 

“If there is a way that I can get him alone, then I’ll be able to disarm him. It worked before.” The young man reminded both James and Kincade.

 

James’ main concern was that the end scenario probably would not go as they had planned. In his experience, end scenarios invariably didn’t. In fact, Silva was more than apt to throw their plan.

The plan seemed to be working fine, until Silva promised Q to his henchmen. It was then that Q realized how mistaken he had been. Furthermore, how right James had been. For a genius, he realised he was certainly extremely naïve. As they dragged him up the stairs, hands fondling, voices gloating and laughing about what they were going to do to him, he felt terror so palatable, he could barely think in a logical fashion. At the head of the stairs stood the major bedroom. One of the henchmen threw him inside with such force that he stumbled over his own feet and landed heavily on the king sized bed. (M’s bed, he thought, dazed) The henchmen laughed.

 

“He’s begging for it.”

 

Though the terror was so strong that it was fogging his usually brilliant mind, another emotion was sneaking in, too. Anger. No. Fury.

 

_How dare these men treat me with such insolence!_

 

One of them grabbed his shirt, pulling hard at the collar.

 

“Wait, this is expensive! Please let me… I’ll strip for you, alright? Just please don’t tear my clothes.”

 

The two laughed once more, eyes gleaming with lust and ill humour.

_Sick sick assholes._

 

“Come, sit down.” He directed them both to sit on the bed. One of them had put his gun in its holster. The other held his loosely in his hands. Clearly, neither thought that Q would be a threat. He reached down to his shoes, untying the laces.

 

“Shirt first, pretty boy. And make it quick. I can’t wait to fuck that sweet asshole of yours.”

 

The other man laughed once more, as Q shook, this time more with anger than fear.

 

Nor did they think that he would be carrying any weapons. He reached inside his sock and quickly pulled out the tazor (the one that he had specifically designed five years before. At that time, it had been for a girlfriend who had to take a train home late at night). Q aimed it at the one with the gun in his hand first, pressing the button. As his partner flopped down on the bed, convulsing, the other man realized what was happening. He went to reach for the gun in his holster. Q screamed loudly, twice, to cover any potential loud sounds the man may make and turned the tazer towards him and pressed the button. With his adrenaline still racing, he shoved the tazer into his jeans pocket flipped first one, then the other still convulsing men onto their stomachs, ripped the bedside lamp chord from the wall and wrapped it around the first man’s wrists, binding them tightly. He then did the same to the other man’s, using the second lamp chord from the lamp on the other bedside table.

 

For a moment he stood by the bed, blood thumping through his veins, breathing exerted, wondering what the hell to do next.

 

_You can’t stay here!_

 

Obeying the seemingly logical thought, he went to rush out, only to remember his untied shoelace. With sweating fingers, he bent down, to retie it, missing the loop several times, due to his sweating fingers.

 

_No, wait._

 

The men on the bed had stopped convulsing but would still be in a fair amount of pain. This would lesson off, soon, however. Q thought about the weapon in the holster but decided it wasn’t worth reaching for. Instead, he picked up the one that had fallen from the other’s hands to the ground in front of the bed, and then raced out the room, closing the door behind him. A rather tall dresser, laden with various knick-knacks, stood to the left of the bedroom door. Without even considering the consequences, and with his adrenaline still racing, Q pushed it with all of his strength. It tottered. He pushed again. The dresser fell over to its side, slamming heavily to the ground, covering the front of the door, the glass knick-knacks and photo frames smashing to pieces all over the floor around him.

 

Even with his knowledge of what humans could achieve when the height of their sympathetic nervous systems was activated, Q could not believe that he had been able to topple a dresser of such weight.

 

_Don’t stop now!_

 

With the revolver held before him, he rushed down the stairs, taking two at a time, and almost losing his balance on the fifth step, which would have undoubtedly caused him to fall head first down the stairs, to a very painful collision at the bottom. Thinking that this is not the way a true field agent would act, he gripped the side railing a moment, to keep from overbalancing, before continuing. He reached the bottom of the stairs, forgetting to cover himself (later he would think how easily he could have had his head blown off. Later than that still, he thought of why he wanted to be involved in this plan to begin with. Did he really want to impress James Bond that much, to risk his own rape and murder?).

 

Stepping into the lounge room, for a moment, he wasn’t sure what he was seeing. Mallory still sat in the corner, tied to a chair and shouting at Silva, who appeared to be standing before the coffee table. James was…

 

Then he saw James legs, initially hidden by Silva. James lay before the deranged ex agent. Which meant he had to be bent directly over the coffee table.

 

Then James spoke. One word.

 

“No!”

 

Q felt his heart lurch into his stomach, as it became apparent what Silva was attempting to do.

 

 “Get away, or I shoot you in the face. Right now.”

 

Silva turned around. Q could now see that he held a gun to the back of James’ head.

 

 “Oh you do continue to surprise! Where are my men, dead?”

 

“I don’t kill.” Q said. “They’ve been tazered. They’ll be alright.”

 

“Oh but a second ago, you were going to shoot me in the face. Put the gun down, or I will shoot James Bond in the head. You know I’m not lying.”

 

Realising how easily he’d been tricked, Q complied.

 

_Yes, definitely the worst potential field agent ever._

“I think it’s best if you stand over there beside Mallory.” Silva said to Q. “It will probably be the best view, to watch me rape the great James Bond.”

 

“No! Don’t! I’ll kill you. I swear.” Q brought the weapon up, once more, as Mallory also voiced his anger.

 

“You won’t kill me. You’ve already said that. Too messy, for one who prefers to be removed from the blood and carnage he causes. However, I can shoot Bond in the head right now. That way, he is spared the indignity of the rape. Or, you can watch me rape him. Then I’ll let him go. I promise. Nothing would please me more, than knowing he would then spend the rest of his life knowing that I was the one who conquered him.”

 

“Don’t. Please.” Q felt tears spring to the corners of his eyes.

 

“Q you should have left when you had the chance!” James shouted. “Go on then, go fuck me. I bet you’re dick’s so small I won’t even feel it!”

 

“Oh you’ll feel it, you’ll feel it alright.” Silva said.

 

“No.” Q put his head in his hands. Never in his entire life had he felt so pathetic, so helpless towards the one he loved. He heard the sound of clothes tearing, then the louder sound of a zip undoing.

“You will watch!” Silva demanded. “Both of you, or I will shoot him right now!”

 

With tears running down his face, Q opened his eyes. James’ clothes were now torn from his body. Silva stood behind him, his pants and underwear around his ankles. He was not erect, and was stroking himself.

 

“I’m not going to enjoy this, you know. You’re not exactly my type. This is purely to prove a point.” He said to James.

 

He then looked at Q. “I do look forward to having you.”

 

“Forget about him! I’ll make it worth your while.” James said.

 

Silva laughed. “I don’t-“

 

Then the front window broke. Q ducked as a silenced shot rang out through the air. The wall behind Silva was suddenly painted with the blood and gore from the back of his head. As he fell backwards, instantly dead, Q saw the red dot on his forehead, indicating the bullet that had passed through.

 

 ###

 

They had finalized the plan on the way back to London. James had been insistent that, with the old M dead, Silva would go after the person with the next highest position of power.

 

Mallory.

 

Logic dictated that Mallory would be aware of this, and would take his family to a safe house as soon as possible.

                       

Q had taken his mobile out of their self-imposed blackout to hack into Mallory’s computer. It was at this point that they discovered the email from his daughter. An intense discussion began as to whether Mallory would risk going back to his old house, solely to pick up a ring for his daughter. Bond had suggested that Silva, himself, had written the email, in the guise of bringing Mallory back to his own house. Perhaps even Mallory knew this, and was playing along.

 

After Q located the safe house, merely half an hour from Mallory’s own, they made the decision to split up. Kincade had reluctantly agreed to go to the safe house and take out any threat there.

 

After dropping James off a block away (the presumption was that the agent would steal a car, to get to Mallory’s house), he parked his own vehicle, reasoning that any infiltration of Silva’s henchmen would be easier on foot. He then stealthily crept towards the targeted house, lamenting the entire time that twenty years ago this would have been a hell of a lot easier. Twenty years ago, his lower back wouldn’t have felt as though someone was poking a red-hot poker into it and his fingers would not have been curling in from the pain of arthritis.

 

_Yeah and twenty years before that I would have been even fitter, twenty years more, I was a bloody child. How far back you intend to go, old duck? Until you were a sperm swimming around in ya daddy’s testicle?_

 

_Just get back to the damned plan._

 

The street was not much different to many others in the heart of London. A lot of small terrace houses clumped haphazardly together, in claustrophobic fashion. In some ways, he thought this to be rather genius of Mallory. Having a safe house merely minutes from his own would be the last thing any potential terrorist would think of.

 

But then, he reminded himself, Silva was no ‘ordinary terrorist’.

 

A few of the surrounding dwellings cast miserable light onto the cement on which he walked. As far as anyone watching from their lighted windows was concerned, he was merely a man out for a stroll.

 

Though his older years showed in the various aches and pains of his body, his awareness and keen sight for detail had not changed since he was a fit young man. When he saw a flitter of movement in the clumps of bushes under the porch railing of house number 22b, he reached his hand under his coat and placed it on his gun.

 

No need to withdraw the gun.

No, need to draw attention, yet.

 

He had to make sure first that others of Silva’s kind were not about. He calculated the distance from the path he stood on, to those bushes, and considered his options.

 

He figured that he had a small chance of taking the gunman out.

 

_What the hell? What else are you going to do? Run away? Tell James you changed your mind?_

 

Kincaide stepped three steps onto the front grass of house 22b, withdrew his weapon and fired at the man, who had been lying, camoflauged, under the bushes and was now turning his weapon on him. The bullet slammed through the back of the neck, killing him instantly. Twenty metres to the left, a second figure rose up, from another clump of bushes. Kincade also took him out with a shot to the neck. He then reupholstered his weapon, reached down and picked up the sighted rifle of the man lying face down before him (nice, he thought, turning the rifle over in his hands. Very nice), placed it in his long coat and calmly walked away from the house and down the block towards the car. The fact that no lights had gone on in any of the houses surrounding (or, indeed number 22b in particular), combined with the distinct lack of screaming that he found tended to accompany a member of the public witnessing someone being shot, told him that there was a fair chance no one had actually heard the commotion. He had, after all, used a silencer and had been very quick. Anyone walking past was going to be in for a shock, however, when they saw the two dead bodies on the front lawn.

Once in the car, he started it up and drove slowly away, so as not to draw attention to himself, waiting until he was at least two blocks away, before he revved the engine, moved the gear stick to the highest gear, and sped through the streets as fast as he could, breaking every traffic rule possible, in his haste to get to Mallory’s house. He and James did not speak about what to do once either of them had neutralized the threat. There was no need. Kincade knew what to do.

Once he had located Mallory’s street, this time he parked on the same street, located the right house, and took a few seconds out to figure out his best tactic. The snipers out the front of the safe house had the right idea, he decided. Thankful that Mallory at least had a high fence that blocked the neighbours front view of his house, Kincade slipped through the gate that Bond had deliberately left open for him, and moved around the edge of the bushes surrounding the driveway. Two lights were on in the house, both from upstairs and downstairs rooms, both with curtains drawn. A large black shape lay prostrate on the front porch. Closer inspection showed it to be a body. Kincade stepped behind a large oak tree that took up most of the front garden, and lifted the shotgun, peering around the massive trunk, as he adjusted the scope. Well, well, he thought. Q would love this one. He could make out four human shaped orange blobs, behind the front lounge room window.

_Shows thermal changes. Genius._

His mind went again to Q.  It turned out that the kid had brought a self-made tazer, to the trip to the Welsh wilderness. On the way back to London, he had told them that he usually kept it on his desk at work, disguised as a pit bull dog. However, since the attack from Silva, upon arriving back at HQ, he had placed the tazer in his pocket, vowing to keep it there.

One orange human shaped blob looked to be in a seated position to the far left of the room. Another stood to his right. Two more… it took him a moment to figure this out. One appeared slouched, bent over something. Furniture perhaps?  The other stood directly behind the bent over figure. Kincade felt disgust rush through him at the obvious implications. The one standing had to be Silva. The one slouched over undoubtedly Q. It seemed Silva was no longer intent on assaulting him away from the others.

_So, he wasn't able to use the tazer, after all..._

No matter. Experience had taught him to not allow any personal feelings to interfere with his job. He aligned the rifle’s sight on Silva and pulled the trigger.

 

Tbc…

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who followed this to the end. Enjoy!

Mallory gripped the edge of his desk, fingernails digging into the varnished wood, as the feeling of momentarily blacking out, from the all-encompassing waves of pure fatigue that kept washing over him, overcame, once more. He was currently on his fourth coffee, had already urinated three times, and was pretty certain that he would be on his fourth trip to the ensuite, to the right of his office, rather soon. At this point, he was weighing up whether to keep drinking the coffee, and be constantly running back and forth from the toilet, or stop drinking the coffee and feel even more fatigued. Though, at this point, he queried whether that was even possible.

Maybe getting a bit too old for this, chappie, he told himself. Twenty years before, he could have been up 72 hours and still been able to show a target, that had finally revealed their position, how it felt to have his sniper’s bullet lodge into their brain. Tonight, the combination of sitting, tied to a chair for hours, as well as extreme anxiety for his family (and, he had to admit to himself, Bond and Q) had given the sleep centre of his brain a rather steady zap.

Of course, he told himself, as much as he longed to go back to his family, that night, he simply couldn’t. The great fuckery, as he thought of the night’s events as, had to be dealt with, in as efficient a way as possible, and with as little media (and government) involvement, as possible. The two dead bodies, on the lawn of 22b Carcadia Crescent, were a little harder to explain than Silva’s body, or the two men tied up in the upstairs room of his own house. The current working scenario for the media was to tell them it was a drug bust gone wrong.

You’ve almost got to feel sorry for drug dealers, he thought wryly. Always taking the blame for us.

A sharp rap sounded on his door.

“You wished to see me?” Bond stepped in, closing the door behind himself.

“Yes, Bond.” He gestured to the chair facing his desk. “Hell of a bloody night!”

The great agent reacted with a slight upcurl of his upper lip.

“I have faith that Q will find a way to counteract the virus.” He said, sounding far more blindly hopeful than he intended. Not content with killing agents, and attempting to rape both Bond and Q, Silva left an epitaph, in turns of a virus on the agency’s internal network, that suddenly switched on minutes after his death. The virus promised to reveal the name of every undercover agent, if it was not resolved within the next six hours. They were now just past hour four.

“Bastard must have somehow planted it there before he escaped, this time. ”

“I know.” James said. “But you didn’t call me in here to talk about viruses.”

_Astute, as usual, Bond._

“I’m going to recommend that you and Q take more time off. It has been a pretty horrendous couple of days. Take a month. I figure, you’ll need a bit of time to deal with what you both went through today.”

“I’m fine.” James said, abruptly. “Comes with the job.”

Mallory paused, carefully considering the best way to go forward.

“You were almost raped tonight. As was he.”

“They didn’t succeed.”

“But they may have.”

James paused, an odd, almost bemused emotion appearing in his light irises.

“I know psychiatrists and ‘talking things through’ may work for other agents. But they don’t work for me.”

“I’m not talking about ‘talking things through’. I’m simply saying that, once we get this damned computer virus sorted out, I suggest you and Q take a holiday. Maybe get out of London for a bit.”

”Is that a suggestion, or an order?”

Mallory smiled. James Bond was no fool.

“Fine, then. It’s an order.”

He could see from the distinctly disgruntled look on Bond’s face that he was not happy with this, but he nodded, nethertheless.

“Well, I will-“

In that instant, cheers and applause erupted from the area behind Mallory’s office.

“What the hell-?” Mallory stood up from behind his desk. Both men quickly rushed out of the room, then through Moneypenny’s to the one beyond, where a bunch of agents were standing around Q, clapping. The young man grinned sheepishly, his cheeks pink.

“It was tricky, but I managed to finally delete the virus,”  He gestured around himself.

Watching the usual figures of the day-to-day operations of the organization on the screens around him, Mallory felt relief ebb from his body.

“Congratulations, Q.” He walked up and gripped his shoulder. Q smiled back at him, then looked to Bond. Something passed between them, a gaze that Mallory couldn’t fathom.

No matter. He could finally go home. His wife had promised to stay awake. Not that he would be up for anything more than sleeping, but, even so, he looked forward to falling asleep, to her soft breath against his cheek.

Perhaps later on, after he awoke, then he would be up for more.

###

As soon as Q stepped into the darkened London streets, a gust of wind hit him, penetrating straight through his layers of clothing. He gritted his teeth to keep from making an external sound of distress, in response to the intense cold. James stood next to him, not seeming to care about the weather, despite wearing less layers than him.

_Of course not. He’s James friggen Bond. He’s already so cool, he probably shits ice cubes._

The thought was mildly amusing, and he almost smiled, but the unhappy reality of the situation was too overwhelming to even allow mirth. Q realized he was rather naïve, when it came to matters of sex and relationships, but he was not foolish enough to think that anything more would happen between him and James. The tent sex had been a response to the gravity of the situation. He knew that. Clearly James did, too. Back at the house, while agents were swarming around, trying to contain the situation, James had given Kincade some money, and ordered him to go to a motel and book two rooms, the second room for himself. Q was not mentioned.

Why would James wish to include him? He tried to think himself out of his misery. The sex was just that. Sex. Just a bit of fun, to take away the angst.

“So, where do you think you’ll-“ Q began and was broken off by the hand that suddenly tugged at his scarf, pulling him towards the other man. He gasped, allowing James mouth to press on his own, James’ tongue to gain entry into his mouth. Q moaned, grabbing James around the waist and pushing their bodies together, as the kiss continued.

“Kincade is at the Hyatt.” James said, after they released. “He’s booked room 213 for me. You can join me. It’s up to you.”

Q blinked, astonished at how wrong he had been, about James.

“Let me think about that for a second. Yes, I’ve thought about it. It’s a fantastic plan.”

James appeared to hesitate. “When they said they didn’t touch you-“

“I was telling the truth. They didn’t touch me.”

“Looks like we were both very lucky tonight.” A dark expression came over the other agent’s face. One that Q couldn’t read.

_No, no no. Damn Silva! The freak is dead!_

“I don’t want to think about them. What I want, is to go back to your hotel room, and you can shag me senseless. Does that sound like an adequate agenda for you?”

“That sounds more than adequate.” Bond smiled.

###

A splat of water landed on the back of James’ hand. He looked up at the darkened sky uncertainly, before moving faster along the muddy track. When another landed on his hand, then one on his cheek, followed by six more on his body, in rapid succession, he decided that his idea for a ‘quaint little walk’ in the bush land, wasn’t such a good one, after all. They had arrived to the charming little cabin late the night before. While James created a fire in the woodfire heater to the front of the cabin, Q had pulled out the couch bed and started arranging sheets, pillows and blankets. They then both fell asleep in the couch-bed, their jetlag, for once, precluding any fun bedtime activities. It was upon waking, that James resolved to leave his beautiful, sleeping partner and explore the surrounding area.

As the water came down more heavily onto his body, he moved even faster, breaking free of the overgrown path, to the green field leading to the cabin. He thought of the irony of going, in their calculations, as far as possible from England, in an attempt to avoid, among other things, the bad weather. Perhaps far southwest Australia was going a little too far in their calculations. After arriving in Perth, they had then taken a minor aircraft further down the countryside. A little bit of rain never irritated him. A virtual bucket load dumped over his entire body was another matter. He picked up the pace, jogging the final distance to the porch of the cabin. Once safe from the rain’s onslaught, he took off his gumboots and emptied them of water. The coals from the open wood fire heater, emitting such wonderful heat the night before would undoubtedly be burnt out-

As soon as he opened the door, the exhilarating warmth, from the remade fire that now merrily blazed, bathed his thankful body. The fire-maker still lay where James had left him, on the folded out couch-bed before the heater.

Only he was now awake. Very much awake. He lay on his side, hand cupped behind his ear. The flames lovingly caressed the naked lines of his torso.

“You look cold. You’d better get out of those clothes.” Q said, trailing a finger down his stomach.

“I didn’t know you knew how to stoke a fire.” James said, as he happily obliged, shrugging off his shirt, and then bending down to take off his socks.

“I can stoke your fire, baby.” Q said then burst out laughing. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

James returned the laughter. It occurred to him that, in his daily life as a spy, there was not much cause for mirth.

He quickly stripped out of his jeans and jumped onto the bed, claiming Q’s mouth with his own. As he kissed down the willing body, he thought, with amusement, that despite Q telling him his real name, he still insisted on calling him by his nickname.

Q didn’t seem to mind.

###

Half an hour later, moments after Q, James cried out his peak, feeling himself release into his lover’s body. He took a moment to come down, stroking Q’s quivering back, before slowly removing himself. Q turned around from his position of being on all fours, gave James a quick peck on his lips and then walked naked to the kitchen.

“The fire’s gone out. I’m really not that good a fire-maker after all.” He yawned, taking out milk from the fridge and switching the kettle on.

James looked to the wood fire heater and laughed once more. It seemed that they were too involved with their passions to notice the sudden lack of warmth to the room.

“I just threw in a few fire lighters. Obviously they didn’t catch.”

“Well, we can’t all be computer geniuses. And we can’t all be fire makers.” He said, jumping off the bed to grab a few smaller sticks from the pile in the woodheap next to the fireplace. He could see what Q had done wrong. He had simply thrown a big log on top, hoping it would work. Instead, he had managed to smother the entire fire.

_I’ll have to teach him how to build a fire. Q clearly has no idea._

“Want some tea?” Q asked. “I’m up for a cuppa.”

“Sure, why not.” James opened the woodfire heater’s door and started arranging the sticks inside the fireplace. It occurred to him how… domestic this all was. It seemed an odd word for him. He had never thought himself to be a domestic kind of person. The closest he got was with Vesper.  
Vesper…  
Thinking about her now only produced a slight whimper of pain. Much preferable to the physical stabbing feeling that occurred deep within his very soul, when her name was ever mentioned in the past.

But then, as much as he truly did love her, it was never entirely right, was it? He should have listened to his instincts, usually so finely honed. From the beginning, they kept flashing warnings at him.

Only, with Q, he didn’t have any negative instincts. If anything, with Q, it all seemed so natural. Have a good hot shag, then have breakfast. Was this how other people truly lived? He had always wondered.

_Only this isn’t entirely ‘domestic’ is it? You’re still a spy. He’s still a genius programmer._

A shrill sound indicated the kettle boiling.

He thought of Silva. This man had almost succeeded in violating both him and Q. There would be others. Ones that thought rape, murder and torture were right and just. James could never be the type of man that simply gave up being a spy to have a normal domestic life. Not when there were still people like Silva alive in the world.

“Here you go. I’ll put it down here.” He turned to see Q placing the steaming mug on the wooden floorboards a good metre away from him.

“I’m getting cold.” Q took a sip of his tea. “Get it going quickly or I’ll be forced to put clothes on.”

“A good fire takes time.” James said, organizing slightly bigger pieces of wood on top of the sticks and firelighters he'd now placed inside.

Although, with Q, he would never be entirely ‘domestic’ would he? Hell, the man worked for the same organization as him. He knew what was involved, that there would be times when they wouldn’t see each other for weeks at a time. It was part of the job. But then, they would be in contact, wouldn’t’ they? Hell, Q could contact him from anywhere in the world.

“Alright?” He felt lips touch the back of his neck.

James swiveled around, catching the momentary wariness that crossed the delicate face, before swiftly disappearing. It suddenly occurred to him that Q was perhaps as anxious about their relationship as he was. He inwardly kicked himself for not noticing earlier.

His mind suddenly went to M. What would she have thought of his new partner? He couldn’t help but smile at the thought. She would have undoubtedly been unimpressed. Not because of the gender of his partner, no he never got the impression that she was homophobic, but rather because of their close working relationship.

“What is it?” Q pressed.

“I was thinking about the old M. What she would think of us being together.”

“I admit I didn’t know her that well.” Q shivered prompting James to return back to his fire building. He balanced a moderate sized log on top, then took the matches from off the top of the heater and lit one, carefully applying it to the firelighters he’d earlier wrapped in paper.

“But I suspect she would not approve. Two agents… is it even legal?”

“I never cared much about legal.” James shrugged, closing the heater door.

“I can see that, considering the amount of laws you deliberately broke in your last assignment.”

Bond picked up his cup of tea and patted the ground next to him. When Q sat down next to him, he placed one arm around his waist.

“Hm… this is lovely.” Q said, watching the flames dance along the top of the burning wood.

James kissed his shoulder. Yes, this was lovely. Then, in a month’s time, they would have to return to London. Perhaps not so lovely. He wondered about Q’s living arrangements. They were undoubtedly more habitable than his own, rather nomadic lifestyle of jumping from hotel to hotel. Yes, perhaps he would make a… compromise, in regards to domesticity.

“I was thinking that I… you know…I… I love you.” Q blurted out, going rather red in the face.

James kissed him again, this time on the neck. “The feeling is reciprocated.”

The smile on the young man’s face was enough to convince James that he had, indeed, made the right choice.

“Yes, the feeling is very much reciprocated.” He moved forward to kiss his beloved, once more.

Fin.


End file.
